Another 25 Things
by slimwhistler
Summary: An alternate take on my 25 Things fic...I'm not giving it away...read it for yourself! New chapters posted 04.09.05!
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Although I wish I could climb into my computer screen and take Josh home!

A/N: Okay guys, here's the first one. I've decided to do each one chronicling a day/event in JJ's life, usually from one perspective. The title will begin with his age, so you'll have a frame of reference. This one is sweet and simple; it will get a bit angsty as the years go on, I think. I'll try not to make it too bad! I can't seem to keep away from it, though. And the letter will resurface, I promise…I couldn't do this universe in such a terse format, unless I'd tried describing photographs or something, which I didn't want to do. Anyway, I just wanted to start on this, and sort of establish their relationship and all. I did it late last night, when I wanted to bang my head against the wall from too much philosophy, so I apologize for anything… Oh yeah, I don't have kids, so I don't know if this is accurate...I did some research last night real quick, so I hope I'm not too far off the mark for a two year-old.

And yes, I know I have Josh calling him Jay, but it's cute.

Other fics: I am going home Thursday, and will try to have The Luck of the Draw finished up by next week, for those of you who have been asking. I have also been working on a sam-centric fic in that universe as well, to be posted at

Feedback: I'm begging you, I don't care whether it's two words. Make finals better!

* * *

Donna went to Wisconsin this weekend to visit her sister and her new baby, and she convinced Sam and I to fly in and stay with Josh and JJ while she's gone. Neither of us has seen them for a few months, and, well, two is better than one. Plus, this way, if Josh does anything inept, one of us can laugh while the other grabs the camera. Fatherhood has opened up a whole new arena of ways for us to tease him. Right now, we're watching him attempt to get JJ into bed.

"Vroom, Vroom." JJ pushes a little red car wildly across the rug.

Josh sneaks up behind him, twirls him up in his arms, and tickles him gently. "JJ Lyman, driver extraordinaire, is tossed to the finish line by an obliging tornado, winning the Indy 500 in record time!" He flips him upside down, and JJ giggles hysterically. "Well, JJ, you must feel exhausted!" he enthuses, imitating a reporter. "How about we hitch a ride to bed on this tornado of yours?"

"No, Daddy. Beep-beeps!"

"We'll play with the beep-beeps some more tomorrow, buddy. Time for bed."

He looks beguilingly at Sam and I, standing near the doorway, and flashes his dimples. "Beep-beeps?" he asks hopefully.

"Nope," I say, hopefully firmly, as his big brown eyes gaze pleadingly into mine.

He pouts, and looks frustrated for a moment, like Josh does when he's perplexed by some problem. His lip juts out, and he stands defiantly. It's too adorable. Josh is locked in a battle of wills with a curly-haired two year-old in barnyard pajamas, who's using the same tricks he does. I don't think he'll hold out much longer.

Mercifully, JJ looks up at him and smiles. "Deal?" he wheedles.

Beside me, Sam snorts, and Josh and JJ send him twin looks of annoyance. I, being the wonderful aunt that I am, poke him in the ribs with my elbow.

"Okay, we can make a deal," Josh acquiesces.

"Jet plane."

"Once."

"Two!"

"Once."

"TWO!"

Josh picks him up, looks him in the eye. "Once," he says calmly.

JJ gives a quick nod. "Once," he agrees contentedly, as though he decided it himself, and opens his arms to Josh.

Josh holds him securely around his middle. "Ready?"

JJ sticks his arms out, like Superman. "Fly!"

"Okay, ready for takeoff. One, two, three. Jay-Jay!."

"Jet plane!" JJ screeches his reply in a miniature bellow. No wonder Donna watches their sugar. With both of them bouncing off the walls…whew.

"Jay-Jay!"

"Jet plane!"

Josh swooshes him back and forth, up and down. He swoops him into bed, and JJ giggles once again, still making motor sounds.

"Ready for shut-eye?"

"Shut-eye," JJ repeats solemnly. All of a sudden he shouts again. "Beepo!"

"He's right here," Josh soothes. He hands JJ the grinning stuffed fire truck he won for him at a carnival. Josh rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. It's the kid's favorite thing. We've all tried to explain to him that fire trucks don't usually beep, but JJ just looks at us as though we're stupid.

Josh leans over, gives him a hug and a kiss, tousles his hair. "Night, Daddy."

"Night, Jay."

Then JJ cocks an eyebrow at the two of us. "Hug," he commands. "Night-night hugs for JJ."

Sam and I cross the room and hug him. "How about a smacker for your Aunt CJ?" I say presently.

"Snack?" He pretends to look confused. We've played this game before.

"No, smack."

"Smack!" He gives me a clumsy, wet kiss on the cheek, and I grin at him.

"You've turned me into a big, warty frog!" He cackles delightedly, and snuggles under the covers.

"Sing, Ceej." He yawns.

Josh and Sam look at me, surprised. "We may have done this when I was babysitting," I offer cautiously. They both smirk at me, and I glare in return. I think for a moment, then am struck by inspiration. I begin "Leaving On a Jet Plane," and look at them pointedly until they join in. When we've finished, JJ is nearly asleep.

"And don't forget, JJ," Sam whispers, "sleep lots. Zoo tomorrow."

"Crocs!" JJ yells.

Josh and I look at each other and groan, and then simultaneously smack Sam upside the head. Honestly.


	2. Five: Score One for Daddy Duties

Disclaimer: Not mine, not that I wouldn't mind Josh, though…I've been good!

Notes: Here it is, finally! I hope you like it; I'm not so sure about this one, so let me know…feedback would be a lovely present!

Just to make this clear: this story is an alternate "25 Things" universe, where Josh beat his cancer and is therefore still alive, per requests.

MORE COMING SOON!

Original Notes: I've decided to do each one chronicling a day/event in JJ's life, usually from one perspective. The title will begin with his age, so you'll have a frame of reference. This one is sweet and simple; it will get a bit angsty as the years go on, I think. I'll try not to make it too bad! I can't seem to keep away from it, though. And the letter will resurface, I promise…I couldn't do this universe in such a terse format, unless I'd tried describing photographs or something, which I didn't want to do.

* * *

"Daddy?"

He's shrinking back into the chair, trying not to look worried. "Don't worry, Jay. It'll be fine." He bobs his head in a heartbreaking little nod, and we wait together for the doctor.

He's getting glasses, and, according to Donna, is rather nervous, although he tries to hide it. Donna designated the appointment with the ophthalmologist a "Daddy duty," just like his first real haircut, dentist appointment, and swimming lesson. She claims that he feels especially secure when I'm there for these landmarks, but I think she just can't handle it. Now, don't misunderstand. My wife can handle anything she sets her mind to; I've never met a stronger woman. Except when it comes to some things with JJ. She gets all…weepy. Emotional. So I go. I don't mind, though. I love "Daddy moments," (although I wouldn't admit it to just anyone, because…)

I almost didn't have any.

The doctor comes in. He's young, and cheerful, and immediately teases a laugh or two out of JJ, who loses his shyness quickly. The next half-hour passes in a whirl of lights, lenses, and eye charts. When JJ confidently begins reading his letters, to the doctor's astonishment, I feel this warm swell of pride in my chest. I'm so distracted that the only words I hear as the doctor leaves are "eye drops."

I loathe eye drops. Donna practically has to put mine in when I get them, because I just can't stand them. I hate having things in my eye. What if he takes after me? I can't deal with this. Donna has to deal with the physical pain things. I'm really not good at this, not really. I mean, I won't not do anything for him, I just…take a while to get over it. I'm sitting in my chair hyperventilating, practically, when the doctor touches me on the shoulder. "Mr. Lyman? We're all done. He just needs to sit for a bit and let the drops take effect, and I'll come and take a look, and you two can be on your way."

I nod my thanks, feeling somewhat embarrassed. My five year-old handles eye drops better than I handle the idea of him having them! What does that say about me, exactly?

I'm not sure I want to think about that too hard.

After leaving the doctor's he gets quiet. He approaches LensCrafters with less enthusiasm than I would have thought; after all, he gets to pick out his own glasses, and things like that always make him feel adult and important. He stays relatively quiet through getting his glasses, which, I have to say, look pretty darn cute. In the manly Lyman way, of course. As I pay, he softly asks me a question:

"Daddy, are they still gonna like me at school?"

I look at him quickly, astonished. "What do you mean, Jay?"

"Do I look silly? Derek said only dorks wear glasses."

My jaw clenches. Who the heck is this little punk? "You are absolutely, positively _not_ a dork. You know who's a dork? Derek, for saying those things."

"But…"

All of a sudden I understand why Donna asked me to go with him today. I'm guessing she didn't know about the thing with Derek, 'cause I would have heard about it, along with the entire DC area, but she knew he wouldn't take the truth about this from anyone but me. But…can a kid really have manhood issues at five? I guess JJ is, which just goes to show how, you know, advanced he is. Not that that's really a good thing in this case, but… He's staring down at the floor, scuffing his toe against the carpet. I crouch down so I'm at his eye level. "Listen, JJ, I absolutely promise that people will still like you. You know, some of the greatest Americans wore glasses. Ben Franklin, for one. Your Uncle Jed. You don't think he's a dork, do you?" He shakes his head no. "And Uncle Sam does…" Wait. I don't think Sam of the penny monologue will help much here. Who else? Ah…CJ! Yes! "Your Aunt CJ does, and she's pretty cool, right?"

He smiles. "She takes me out for ice cream."

I'm not being maneuvered, am I? "You trying to tell me something, kiddo?" I arch an eyebrow at him, and he giggles, and tugs at my hand.

Score one for the junior political operative.

I follow him out the door, a dopey grin pasted on my face.

Score one for Daddy duties.


	3. Nine: This we agree on

Disclaimer: Not mine, not that I wouldn't mind Josh, though…I've been good!

Notes: Here it is, finally! I hope you like it; I'm not so sure about this one, so let me know…feedback would be a lovely present!

Just to make this clear: this story is an alternate "25 Things" universe, where Josh beat his cancer and is therefore still alive, per requests.

MORE COMING SOON!

Original Notes: I've decided to do each one chronicling a day/event in JJ's life, usually from one perspective. The title will begin with his age, so you'll have a frame of reference. This one is sweet and simple; it will get a bit angsty as the years go on, I think. I'll try not to make it too bad! I can't seem to keep away from it, though. And the letter will resurface, I promise…I couldn't do this universe in such a terse format, unless I'd tried describing photographs or something, which I didn't want to do.

* * *

"Jay?"

He looks up from his bed, where he's engrossed in a book. His glasses have slipped down his nose a bit. "Hey, Dad," he says, with a small smile.

"Your mom and sister are downstairs. Come say hi, huh?"

"Yeah," he says flatly. He turns down the page corner and gets up. I stifle a grin. I taught him to do that, to Donna's dismay. Donna's more of a bookmark person. He would just look at her and say simply, "Daddy does it that way."

I miss hearing "Daddy." I miss the trust inherent in that word. Ever since JJ turned eight or so, I've been "Dad." He doesn't tell me his secrets anymore, and I have to work harder to get a grin from him. Donna assures me this is just his way of establishing independence, or something. Which I get, but it was so sudden, you know? One day I was his hero, and the next, not so much. Donna says I exaggerate, but that's what it felt like. And JJ's been no help shedding light on the issue; he's just as closemouthed as I am on some things.

"So, what were you reading?"

"The Indian in the Cupboard."

Ah. "Ah. Is it good?"

"Yeah," he says in his new "obviously" tone.

"Great. So, did you and Sam go and see that exhibit on the Presidents at the American History museum?" He nods. "Well, how'd you like it?"

He shrugs. "I liked the planes better."

Oh. Well. Thank God, we're downstairs. Sam is cooing over Donna and the baby, and I feel this big, stupid grin spreading across my face, watching Donna cuddle our newborn. I look back, notice JJ still hanging back by the door. "Come on, Jay," I say.

He shakes his head. But then Donna notices him. "Hi sweetheart," she says, beaming. "Come here. I need my hug."

He crosses the room instantly. With caution, but instantly. Well. So…anyone else feeling rebuffed, here? Just me? Okay, then.

After Donna releases him, she says, "Say hi to your little sister."

"Suzy."

"Right. Susanna Marie, to be exact."

He's staring down at her wonderingly. "She's so small. How can anything so small be so pretty?"

Donna and I share a gooey "look what we did" moment, as JJ traces a finger across her cheek. I join them, and survey my daughter proudly. She _is_ beautiful. She's got these huge, violet-blue eyes, my mother's, and her head is covered with white-blond fuzz. I'm never going to let a gomer _near_ her.

JJ appears to be thinking somewhat along the same lines. "I'm your big brother. I'll be the best one ever." He smiles down at her, then up at me. This, _her_, we agree on.


	4. Sixteen: How did things get like this?

Disclaimer: Not mine, not that I wouldn't mind Josh, though…I've been good!

Notes: Here it is, finally! I hope you like it; I'm not so sure about this one, so let me know…feedback would be a lovely present!

Just to make this clear: this story is an alternate "25 Things" universe, where Josh beat his cancer and is therefore still alive, per requests.

MORE COMING SOON!

Original Notes: I've decided to do each one chronicling a day/event in JJ's life, usually from one perspective. The title will begin with his age, so you'll have a frame of reference. This one is sweet and simple; it will get a bit angsty as the years go on, I think. I'll try not to make it too bad! I can't seem to keep away from it, though. And the letter will resurface, I promise…I couldn't do this universe in such a terse format, unless I'd tried describing photographs or something, which I didn't want to do.

* * *

"Absolutely not, JJ."

"Dad, come on. I worked my ass off this year."

"Watch it with the language, okay? Your sister might hear you. And the answer is no. End of discussion."

"That's so unfair."

"Joshua Josiah, you are not driving across the country in a Jeep. And you are not going to bash your brains out rock climbing as long as I'm around. Got it, pal?"

We are, as you might have gathered, having an argument. A colossal one. JJ's got this harebrained idea that we're going to let him go on a cross-country trip with two of his friends to go rock climbing. Unsupervised. Never mind that he's certified, and works in a climbing gym. I am not letting my sixteen year-old put himself at risk that way. The idea of it scares the shit out of me. What if something happened to him?

"You are going to stay here and take trigonometry, like we discussed," I state firmly. "If you had applied yourself, we wouldn't need to be having this discussion."

"Yeah, you would have just found some other way I don't measure up," he mutters.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Dad, you know I hate math. Nothing I end up doing will have _anything_ to do with math. Why are you pushing so hard for the accelerated track?"

"How do you think you're going to have a chance at getting into Harvard without calc? It's only been what you've wanted since, I don't know, forever?"

"No," he says, with an exasperated laugh. "Correction. It's what _you_ want. And, since you ever so kindly announced the fact that I planned to follow in your footsteps at my _Bar Mitzvah_, everyone thinks it's what I want, too."

"But, we talked about it…"

"You talked, I listened, and I said I would think about it. Which I have, and I do not want to go there, okay? I don't know how else I can say it."

"Fine," I say. I hate that the hurt is audible in my voice. What's wrong with Harvard? "But that doesn't change the fact that you're staying here and taking trig."

"Jesus, Dad," he explodes, "don't you get it?"

"Yeah, I get it, and I'm not going to let you screw around with your future like this."

"But Dad, it's not my future. You won't let me be my own person. You want my future to be _your_ life."

Our voices are scaling steadily. "You don't know what you're talking about," I say icily.

"Oh, really? This has nothing to do with the fact that Santos lost the election, and you've been scrambling around for a way to redeem yourself ever since? And now you want to pass the torch on to me? Well, you can take your torch and shove it!"

I'm breathing heavily, just on the edge of losing it. "That is complete bull, and… don't talk to me like that. Do _not_ speak to me like that, get me? You'll be lucky to see the outside of these four walls at _all _this summer, otherwise."

"Oh, like that'll be a change," he says sarcastically.

For some reason, my anger chooses this point to boil over. I feel like throwing something, but punch the wall instead. "Listen, you punk…"

"Daddy?"

JJ and I look towards the entrance to the living room. Suzy is hanging on to the doorframe, her blue eyes wide as saucers. Her lip is trembling as she says, "You were loud. I could hear you in my room. Is JJ in trouble?"

Glancing at me, JJ crosses the room and picks up his little sister. "Don't worry, Tulip. Dad and I were talking, and we got a little angry, that's all. Everything's fine, okay?"

She's not convinced. "But Daddy hit the wall. Daddy never hits things."

"Sometimes, when people get mad, they do silly things like that. Right, Dad?"

I find it difficult to speak around the lump in my throat. "Right," I rasp. "And they always feel sorry afterwards. I look at JJ as I say this, but he doesn't quite meet my eyes. He tickles Suzy's tummy, makes her laugh. They go upstairs.

How did things get like this between us?

Oh, God. He must hate me. What have I done?

And what do I do now?


	5. Twenty: At Least He Cares

Disclaimer: Any first gen. WWers aren't mine. JJ, Becca, and Chris are, however. ;0)

Notes: Another piece, finally! I've got a whole bunch of others at least partly written. I'm sorry to go off on another tangent with Chris, but the characters start talking to me and I have to write them. You guys don't mind, though, right? Anyway, Chris's situation is sort of a foil for Josh and JJ's relationship, sooo…I hope I haven't offended anyone with anything in here; this does contain light discussion of homosexuality, so if it bothers you, don't read! Feedback, as always, makes me do a happy dance! ;0)

* * *

"So, can we borrow the convertible, Ceej?"

"Call home first."

"CJ!"

"Call home first."

"But I just emailed them…"

"Joshua Josiah, do not make me smack you in front of these nice friends of yours. And don't blink those Bambi eyes at me. It won't work. Or the dimples. I've known your father for 25 years. I'm immune. Well, nearly…Anyway, go. Call home. Call your parents. Suzy misses you."

That got him. "All right, all right. Don't say I didn't warn you, though. It's going to destroy my good karma," he grouses.

"I think you should tell your father that."

He frowns at me and rolls his eyes, then whips out his cell and goes over to a corner of the patio. "Hello?… Hey, Suze. How ya doin'? A backflip, huh? Wow, sweetie, that's great. I can't wait to see. I'm not sure, hon. Maybe later this summer. I know, but I'm working. I miss you too, Tulip. Love you."

"Dad, hi. It's JJ. No, I'm fine. I'm at CJ's. Chris and Becca are here, too. For a couple of days. Finals were fine…no, no grades yet. Really Dad, they went fine. I feel fine. Well, I keep saying 'fine' because that's how things are with me: fine! Yes Dad, I start my job in June. Because I'm taking a couple of weeks off. Nothing with kids starts in May, anyway. Yes, I know you offered to set something up for me in DC. But I'm fine here, really. Dad, I got my own job, ok? That's how I want it. I don't want people looking at me as though I only got a job because of who my father is, which is what they'll do in DC. Dad, I'm just being honest, it's how I feel, ok? I'm sorry. Yeah. Listen, I'll let you know if I can make it home…Dad, I don't really know what my schedule's gonna be like for a while. I know…I _know_! Listen, tell Mom I'm sorry that I missed her, and 'love you' and everything. Yeah. You too, dad. Bye." He shuts off the phone and sighs.

"Did you survive?"

"Yeah, just another episode of 'The Way JJ is Screwing Up His Life,' followed by 'oh, by the way, son, I love you.'"

"JJ, it's not like that. You know that."

"CJ, you haven't been on the receiving end of this shit for ten years, okay? You don't know anything about it."

I'm going to ignore that. "JJ, he's so proud of you. He talks about you all the time. He's just, well…he's Josh. It's just what he does."

"Well, could have fooled me."

"JJ, he just…worries. Every time I call, he asks whether I've seen you, how you're _really_ doing, whether you're eating, whether you look happy, whether you look exhausted…"

"If he wanted to know those things he could just ask me."

I just look at him. "Right. And you would tell him?"

He gives me a lopsided grin and adjusts the sunglasses I gave him as an end-of-semester present. "Point," he concedes. "Thanks, CJ. You're the best godmother a guy could ask for."

"Get out of here, charmer. I already said you could borrow the car."

He laughs. I watch as he heads over and helps Becca load the last bit of gear, and then I wander poolside, casting a shadow over Chris, stretched out on a lounge chair. "You didn't want to join Lewis and Clark on their Grand Adventure?"

"God, no. I will hike, I will scuba dive, I will rock climb. I will not, under any circumstances, go kayaking."

"With all that, you have kayak issues?"

"They go upside down. I don't do upside down."

"Fair enough."

"So, did the J-man start World War Three over there or what?"

"I'd say it was a skirmish, if anything."

"What's with him and his dad, anyhow? I've met the guy; he's intimidating, but you can tell he cares."

"Tact's never been Josh's strong point. He can be rather forceful, and likes to get his way. Why exactly JJ is so upset with him, I have no earthly idea."

"At least his dad gives a shit."

I look at him. Chris and Becca are JJ's best friends. They met last year, as freshmen. Becca lived in JJ's building, and JJ and Chris were roommates for part of first and all of second semester. JJ's first roommate got suspended after some drug incident or other, and Chris's roommate was uncomfortable with Chris's "lifestyle preference," and so a friendship was born. JJ's really laid back and open, so he and Chris get along extremely well. They sound like their own version of the 'Odd Couple' occasionally, but… Chris, on the other hand, makes sure JJ has a life outside of his room. He forgets to, sometimes. Chris even took him to a gay bar a few times. JJ keeps count of the men who hit on him. It amuses both of them.

Chris has a gift for that, for jollying people, making them laugh. Even himself. I've gotten to know him well over the last year, and this bitter tone is something new. "What is it, hon?"

He laughs shortly. "Oh, just pondering. JJ's parents just want him to come home and mine just want me to stay far, far away."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Nothing to tell, really. My father is a bona-fide, certified asshole, so my mother left him. Unfortunately, she didn't take me with her. He never liked me much, and when he remarried, I was just in the way. So he basically wrote me off when I came out."

"And your mother?"

"Who knows?" He pauses. "Anyway, it just hurts when I see JJ walking away from a good thing. In more than one respect," he adds wryly.

"So you've noticed that too, huh?"

"Am I blind?"

"If JJ's anything like his father, it'll be a while. It took Josh and Donna years to admit how they felt about one another."

"Hmmmm. I sense some plotting is in order."

"Want a drink, there, Cupid?"

"Margarita?"

"Right."

"Martini?"

"Sure."

"Daiquiri?"

"Virgin."

"CJ, you wound me."

"Funny boy." I look at him, and lay a hand on his arm. "Seriously, though, Chris, you know you're welcome here if…if you ever find yourself in need of a place to stay. I might not be here, but…"

"You hardly know me."

"I know you well enough, and I know JJ. He's got a good head on his shoulders when it comes to people."

When he looks up, his eyes are bright, and his voice husky, but he's got his devilish grin on. "CJ, you're a very attractive woman, but I thought from our previous conversation it would have been obvious that…"

"Watch it there, pal. You might just lose yourself a virgin daiquiri."

"Now that would be a shame."

He grins, but there's a thank you in his eyes. I nod, and go and make him his drink.


	6. 24, Pt 1: Would I be Here?

Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately.

A/N: Okay, I know JJ's been an ass lately, but hopefully this will explain some of it. The apple doesn't fall that far from the tree, in terms of attitude here, I guess. I swear, I'll fix everything! Feedback will speed up the cure! ;0P

* * *

"H-hello?" I stare at the clock blearily for a few seconds before the time sinks in: 2:00 AM. Who the hell…

"Hey, Sam!"

It must be JJ. It sounds too much like Josh to be anyone else, and since Josh is currently asleep in our guestroom, it can't, you know, be Josh.

"Um, yeah, so Nick here tells me I've had a little bit too much to drink and that I should get a cab home. Trouble is, I can't remember where home is. Do you know where home is?"

"Yeah, I know where home is. Listen, JJ, where are you? Are you all right?"

"I'm just dandy, thanks. I'm having myself a beautiful day in the neighborhood. Or is it night? I'm not entirely sure."

"It's morning. Very definitely very early morning."

"Excellent!"

"Yeah. Put the bartender on the phone, okay? I'll come pick you up."

"Why, thanks, Sam. You're a real peach."

"I appreciate that."

"Oh, anytime."

After I hang up, Ainsley stirs beside me. "Who was it, Sam?"

"JJ. He's, ah, a little worse for wear."

"Let Josh take care of it. He's his son. Stay with me."

"Ains, you know as well as I do that JJ doesn't usually drink much of anything. If he's let himself get this gone something must really be wrong. And you know he and Josh don't necessarily…"

"You're right," she sighs. "Want me to tag along?"

"No, but thanks. I'll just make sure he gets home alright."

"Make sure who gets home alright?"

It's Josh. Damn.

* * *

"I'll get him. You stay in the car."

"But…"

"Josh, otherwise he'll feel as though he's being ambushed. You haven't seen him for what? Nine months? And then to pop up acting all like, well, _you_, when his defenses are down? Bad idea. Anyway, he doesn't do this unless something's really wrong. It isn't like him."

When Josh speaks he sounds tired. "How is it, Sam, that you know more about my son than I do?"

I lay a hand on his shoulder as I exit. "Stay in the car, Josh."

When he staggers out of the bar, I'm shocked. I've never seen him this far gone. Sam is half-carrying him. As they get closer, my concern grows. He's changed. He looks like he's impersonating someone else. He looks like every other yuppie twentysomething out there. And my son has never been one to fit in to anyone's mold, other than his own. I know that from bitter experience. But I always admired that, that he felt comfortable being his own man. Rather envious of it sometimes, in fact.

Sam hustles him into the car. He's chuckling drunkenly. Then he sees me. He smirks. "It's Pop! Well, hey there, Pop! So kind of you to join me on this gorgeous might. Kim dumped me tonight, d'y'know? According to my beautiful, gorgeous, sexy girlfriend, she's going places and I'm not. Apparently teaching children isn't glamorous enough for her. But who am I kidding, right? I'm not necessarily a catch, for a girl like her, and besides, you've disapproved of me since forever. I should be used to it by now, right?"

He flops against the seat like a petulant child, and is soon snoring away. Sam and I don't speak for the rest of the ride to the house.

Once we're there, Sam takes charge of steering JJ. I follow, just in case. I want to make sure he gets in okay. Sam raps on the door for a few minutes until a sleepy Becca opens it.

JJ grins loopily. "Becca! My friend!"

She looks at us. "Kim?" she mouths. Sam nods. "Oh, Lord. Come on, Champ."

"Are we going to bed?"

"Well, you are, and I am. Not together, though."

"Shame. Why not?"

"Because neither of us would be happy in the morning, that's why."

"I wouldn't mind."

"You're drunk."

"Still."

Sam and I have been watching this exchange as she guides JJ towards his bedroom. A few minutes later she's out again. "Thanks."

"Thank you," Sam says. "You need anything?"

"No, he'll be out for a while. I've seen this before."

I look at her. "I'll be by in the morning."

"I'll tell him."

* * *

"Josh, are you sure you want to go over there?"

"Sam, I'm bringing him breakfast. I'm his father. It'll be fi- well, it'll be ok."

"I'm just saying, he probably doesn't want to see _anyone _this morning."

"I know. I just…I have to do this, you understand?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Don't worry, Josh. He'll come around."

"Good morning, Becca."

"Hey, Josh. Is that coffee?"

"With your name on it."

"You're wonderful."

"That I am. Jay up yet?"

"Course not. Are those bagels?"

"Yup. There's plenty. Eat up."

"Great! Hey Chris! Bagels!"

"Excellent!"

"Is it absolutely necessary for you to shout like that?" It's Jay. He stumbles, disheveled, into the kitchen/living area. He blinks, groggily. "Is there coffee?"

"I don't know, Becc. Should we save some for the lush?" Chris teases.

"I suppose we can be magnanimous, since his father brought it."

"My, fath- Oh, hi, Dad. Um, what are you doing here?"

"I was staying with Sam."

"Ah. Wait…you were there last night?"

"Yeah. I, ah, I was in the back of the car."

"Oh. Well. How fucking fabulous."

Chris speaks quickly, smoothly. "Becca, sweetheart, what do you think about making this an al fresco breakfast?"

"Sure." They exit.

"So why were you at Sam's?"

"I had some business to take care of."

"That wouldn't include checking up on me, would it?"

"I prefer to think of it as visiting. Jay, come on."

"Yeah. Look, I'm sorry, Dad. Everything's so fucked up right now, I…"

"It's ok, son." We're actually talking. Without rancor. Which, sadly, is unusual enough to notice. I hesitate, then speak my mind. "Do you, ah, maybe want to come home for a while? To DC?"

"What? Dad, I'm teaching right now, I…"

"I know, I just, I thought maybe, it might help. With things," I finish lamely.

"I cannot believe you." He's staring at me, open-mouthed. "Dad, why would Washington make anything better? Have you ever listened to me? Do you want me to constantly feel like a failure?"

I know it's the liquor talking, know he's going through a crisis of sorts, and that I should control my bubbling temper.

But you know what? Screw that.

* * *

"It just seems as though you have this deep aversion to everything that I love!" His dark eyes snap with anger and quite a bit of hurt. No matter, I've got quite enough anger of my own.

"That's because I do!" Dad blinks, a bit stunned, then turns away, his jaw set. "God, Dad, do you have any idea what it's like to grow up with you for a father?"

"Yes, you had such a horrible childhood," he replies sarcastically.

"Oh, shut _up_! Jesus, Dad, don't you know who you are? You're Joshua Lyman, political wonder, DC's strategical wizard, sought after by anyone who's anyone. How can I possibly compete with that?"

"I never-"

"Sure, Dad. Right. The pushing for Harvard, all the cracks, the patient, ever-present suggestions about getting a job in DC. Just coincidence, my ass. Why can't you just accept me for who I am? And then! I have your name, for God's sake! Named for a dying man, a way to carry on the Lyman legacy! How am I supposed to live that down? I feel like, when anyone in Washington looks at me, they don't see me, they see an extension of you. And I'm sorry, but I just don't want that. Why do you think I left?"

His mouth forms a small 'O' of astonishment, and his Adam's apple bobs. "I just…wanted to share something with you. That's all. Christ, JJ. You never let me in, and I don't know what to make of that. I wish you would. You're my son, and I love you, but I feel as though I don't know you."

I take a deep breath, and regard him calmly. "If you hadn't been sick, would I be here?" There. It's out.

"_What?"_

"You heard me."

"Jesus Christ." He turns away abruptly, and when he turns to face me his eyes are full of such anguish, pain, and rage that I almost take a step back."

"So. You think you're some last-ditch attempt at preservation of the Lyman name, or something? You think I'm so egotistical that I would conceive a child purely as a means of preserving my professional legacy? What in the hell kind of screwy logic is that? Is that what you really think of me? Well, let me tell you something. You know why I didn't die, why I didn't give up? It was for you. It would have been so much easier to give in to the pain. I didn't give a rat's ass about my job, anything. I could even deal with the idea of leaving your mother. I didn't want to, at all, but we'd said what we needed to say, to give us both a measure of peace. But I couldn't stomach the thought of leaving you, never seeing you, never…holding you. Never knowing you. That's why I hung on." He pauses. "If I'd known, maybe I'd have saved myself the trouble," he says bitterly.

I'm trembling. "Dad, I-"

"Save it, JJ. Just…don't. I'm leaving now. I'll see…oh, hell. Forget this." And he stalks out.

Oh, God. Oh, man.

_Shit._


	7. 24, Pt 2: Would I Be Here?

Disclaimer: Not mine, but I like to play with them anyway.

A/N: Okay, here it is. More is coming, fun stuff, but I had to finish this up…I don't know if it's realistic, or in character, but…here you go. I reprinted the letter from "25 Things;" speaking on the video is in italics. I hope you like it! Feedback will help me finish!

* * *

I spend the next few hours alternating between slick, icy dread and unreasoning anger. One minute I'm berating myself, thinking myself the lowest form of scum, and the next I'm so angry at him I could spit. What the hell right does he have to put that kind of responsibility on me? I'm his reason for _living_? And I thought it was bad before! How am I 'sposed to feel about that, think about that, _do_ about that? How does a guy live up to that? And then I hate myself again. I should be honored, right? And grateful, and…

There's a loud rapping at the door. I open it, only to be faced with a tight-lipped Sam and an irate CJ.

"What the hell did you say to him?"

"Well hi to you, too."

"Don't give me that, smartass. What did you do?"

I feel the anger bubbling up again. "Well you're awfully quick to…"

"Listen, pal. It took the two of us this long to calm him down and prevent him from drinking himself into a coma. I've never seen him that low before, and I've seen him through plenty. He's on the phone with your mother now, so brace yourself. He might not be ready to bust your ass, but she sure will. And I will, too," she finishes darkly. "Now, start talking."

I look at her, at Sam, stony and inscrutable with his arms crossed over his chest. I sigh and run a hand through my hair. "He came over this morning. Brought breakfast. We talked, and it was okay for a while. Then he asked me if I wanted to come home for a while. To DC." I look up.

"Yeah, so?"

"God, none of you get it, do you? I'm just an extension of him there. I'm not JJ, I'm Josh Lyman's son, the one who didn't follow him into politics."

"JJ, if you let that get to you…"

"I've been getting _that_ ever since I can remember, CJ. From other people first, and then, more obliquely, from Dad. I've wanted to get away since forever. Why do you think I begged to go to boarding school? But then he made applying to Harvard conditional, so that was out."

CJ's voice is softer. "Why do you think he did that, JJ? He wanted you to stay. The thought of you leaving broke his heart. He knew you wouldn't do anything you didn't want to do, even to get away, so that's what he did. Maybe it was wrong, but…"

"He couldn't just say that?"

"And you would have listened, right? When all else fails, Josh strategizes. He didn't know how to reach you, so he did what he does best."

"But why does he care so much?"

"Why?" For the first time, Sam speaks. He's incredulous, indignant. "You're his son. He loves you."

"Yeah. Um. That's another thing. I kind of, well, I kind of asked if, um, I was here because he was sick."

"WHAT?!?!"

"Well, it makes sense," I say defensively. "You know Dad. With his ego, and…and everything, he might have wanted to, you know, leave something behind."

"Do you really know him so little?" Sam's voice is resigned, sad. "They found out about you right before the diagnosis. He was so happy. He walked around with this big, dumb grin on. Leo was afraid to send him to the Hill, because he was too damn cheerful to scare anyone. He was so damn happy," he repeats.

"Well, if I wasn't a mistake, or a legacy, or something, why the hell did they wait so long to have Suzy?"

There's a long pause. CJ and Sam look at one another. I look between them, confused, panicky, and with the fear that I might just really have done something very wrong indeed.

Haltingly, CJ speaks. "They wanted to make sure…they wanted to make sure he…that he made it past the five year mark, before…"

Oh, jeez.

"And then, it took them awhile, to…because of the chemo, he couldn't…he took some things, to help…" She's uncomfortable, looking at Sam.

My father. My father, with the ego the size of Texas, took drugs. For that. I can't imagine it.

I speak. "He said…he said something else. He said that…that the only reason he didn't let go is because of me. Is that true?"

CJ shoots an inquiring look at Sam. "Things were bad, JJ. They were really bad," Sam reiterates. "Based on some things he said to me, yeah, I'd guess it's probably true."

"But how can he do that to me?" I explode angrily. "I know it's irrational, unreasonable, but…I can't live my life for him, you know? I have to do it for me! I don't know what he wants…I can't…I…"

"So ask him."

I look up. Chris is standing in the doorway. From the look on his face, he's heard quite a bit, and isn't very happy about it. "Chris, I…"

"Shut up. Just shut up, man. I am so fucking _sick_ of hearing you bitch about your dad. He cares. He _cares_. Do you know how lucky you are? Hell, my dad wouldn't care if I died tomorrow. So stop screwing around."

His eyes are blazing; I've nevebr seen him so worked up. "Chris, you don't know…"

"Look, JJ. You're one of the best guys I know. I mean that. But when it comes to your dad, you just can't give in. You won't. I've seen it, heard it. And that's stupid. Just talk to him. Talk to him. Please. Let it go, man. Just let it go. You're bigger than this shit. Don't screw with a good thing. Not anymore. Get your head out of your ass," he enunciates crisply, and stalks off with a glare.

He leaves. "Well, he saved me the trouble of delivering a further ass-kicking," CJ says dryly.

I wince, thinking of the other time today I've heard that phrase. "Yeah…"

"Listen," CJ continues. "We brought you some things. When your dad got sick, your mother asked me to keep them. And afterwards, too. She couldn't bear to have them around for a while, and I guess I never gave them back. There's some videotapes, a scrapbook your mother had. Maybe they'll, I don't know, lead to something."

I take the box. I'm feeling a little lightheaded. "Um, thanks. Thanks. I'll just go and…take a look…"

They glance at me worriedly. "Well, okay," CJ says. "We'll go check on Chris."

I don't really hear them. I feel as though I've got a sort of Pandora's Box. I'm afraid of what it might mean for me.

* * *

I take out the scrapbook, flip through pages. The first thing is an article on the Bartlet campaign, from a Wisconsin paper. There are pencil marks. I imagine my mother reading it, underlining things she thought were insightful. She would do that.

There's more memorabilia…napkins, coasters, tickets, from all across the country. A faded newspaper picture of my father and Toby and President Bartlet.

There's a photo from the first Inauguration. Of my parents. They look young, and giddily happy.

More newspaper articles. Of bills passed, screwups of my father's. The Mary Marsh thing, stuff like that.

Then, the shooting. The magazine pages have been torn out, shoved in, not neatly affixed. As though my mother was driven to preserve them, but couldn't bear to look at them.

I smile at the folded Chinese takeout carton, at a note about physics. He still trots that stuff out when he wants to annoy one of us.

The rest of it is more stuff like that. There's an engagement photo…it looks as though it was taken at the Bartlet farm. They're standing in front of a wooden fence. My mother's head is on his shoulder, his arm is around her waist, and they're smiling. Grinning like loons.

And then it stops. I know what comes next, though.

I slip the first of the tapes into the VCR.

It's in one of the bullpens. People have glasses of wine. The filming's a bit shaky, but eventually the camera zooms in on my mother and father. My mother is speaking: _"Guys, I know this is just supposed to be a, well, rather late now, ah, engagement party, but ah, Josh and I, well, we have some news." _She's blushing, and she turns to Dad.

He beams. _"We're having a baby!!!"_ he announces jubilantly.

Pandemonium ensues. From somewhere comes a _"God help us," _delivered in tones that can come from no one but Toby.

"_You couldn't have waited a few more months, mi amor?"_ It's CJ, exasperated but grinning.

"_With a woman like this? You gotta be kidding me!"_

"_Joshua!"_

"_Sorry, Donna, but it's true."_

"_Chauvinist, hormonally-overloaded pig," CJ mutters. _

"_You're just jealous."_

"_You wish."_

The tape flickers, then another scene comes up. Sam's slightly giddy face fills the screen, and then it zooms back to show him with his arm slung around my mother. _"Do you know, Donna, that once when Josh and I were out he started singing along to "Lady in Red," and then informed the bartender that it was dedicated to you?"_

"_I did not!" _my father screeches indignantly.

"_You did! You did!"_ Sam chortles gleefully. My father lunges for him, and proceeds to chase him through the bullpen. There are more bits like this, and through all of them, I'm drawn toward my father. Even on a tape a quarter-century old, you can tell he's something. Even on a tape, you follow him, watch him. The charisma, the energy, the confidence, it rolls of him in waves. It's surprising, and yet not at all.

I envy him. For his magnetism. God, how could you not? For the first time, I admit it to myself. I envy him.

The party must have migrated to the Residence at some point, because my parents are now on a couch. My mother is asleep, with her head in my father's lap. One hand idly strokes her hair, and the other shades his eyes. All of a sudden he looks up, with a gentle smile of welcome for whoever holds the camera.

"_They're sleeping,"_ he says softly. On his face, there's this look of wonderment and peace. Wow. I hope to God, I get that look someday.

I take a deep breath before inserting the other tape. It's just other amusing stuff, from the Bartlet days, and I start to wonder whether I should really get dressed, when I look up.

Nothing could have prepared me for this. It's my father and mother again, except…they're in a hospital. My father is barely recognizable, gaunt and pale. His eyes dominate his entire face. As the moment unfolds, and he sings the lullaby, one that licks at the corners of my memory, I keep staring at his eyes. My eyes. No one should be that sick and have eyes that look so…_awake, _and so full of hope.

I'm getting jittery. It's the…it's the damn _love_ in his eyes! I can't look at it. I feel so exposed, so low. If I look, my anger might melt. It's been a part of me, this resentment, for so long, that I don't know how to feel about the world, without it.

I can't look at that, and deny it anymore.

My father loves me.

With a sudden burst of energy, I shove the album and other tape back into the box. I feel the need to punch something. What do I do?

I notice an envelope lying on the floor. It must have fallen out of the back of the album, or something. I recognize my father's handwriting, a little shaky, and my name, Joshua Josiah, which I've detested for so long. I open the envelope. My hands shake.

**Dear kiddo, **

**If you're reading this, you know I was pretty sick, once, so sick that I never got to see you. I'm sorry for that, really I am. But I love you; I have since the moment your mother told me. And I'm so happy to have been your father. I know it's probably going to be hard to grow up without me; it was hard enough losing my dad, and I was nearly forty. So I thought I would write you this list, just some general things to keep in mind. Some of them will hopefully be obvious to you by now, others you may need explained. I know your mom will be happy to, though she might cry at first. She always was a crier. I'm sorry it's not more, buddy, but I'm pretty tired, and I wanted to do this by myself, so you'd have something, from me to you, just between us.**

**I love you, Joshua. **

**Dad.**

**Cats are bad. Period.**

**Red meat's got to be burned. It's the only way to go. **

**The backpack makes the man. **

**A good pair of sunglasses is a necessary investment. Trust me on this one.**

**Always buff the bottom of your shoes. Yeah.**

**Never underestimate the power of a good smirk.**

**Avoid "winging" anything, especially a press briefing. Just ask CJ.**

**Any shrink named Stanley's a good bet.**

**Whatever you do, please, please, don't let your Uncle Sam turn you into a Gilbert and Sullivan freak. Stick with the Doobie Brothers.**

**Don't mess with your Aunt CJ, 'cause, you know, she'll hurt you. **

**Don't let Toby scare ya. Underneath the bluster, he's one of the best guys you'll meet. Just don't believe him when he starts talking about the Yankees. We're Mets men.**

**When President Bartlet starts lecturing, just run. He'll like you. You can probably get away with it.**

**If your mother ever instates The Rules, do yourself a favor and just do what she says. Life'll be better that way.**

**If by some cruel twist of fate you inherit my sensitive system, always keep a fresh set of clothes in the office. I ended up in fishing waders, once.**

**Just in case you wonder, your mother will never, ever, order her own fries. She'll eat yours. I know it's odd, but it's just a thing. It's okay.**

**So. Girls. First of all, be wary of the brunettes, okay? Although blondes are scary enough, as I'm sure you've discovered by now.**

**The dimples. I know you hate 'em, but yeah, never grow facial hair. They're your fallback with the ladies. They'll work where all the chocolate and roses in the world won't do a damn thing.**

**Unexpected gifts. They're much more meaningful than traditional ones. And just between you and me, you'll get luckier. But just do your old man a favor on that one, okay? Wait awhile.**

**Don't stop for beer, or even red lights, when something's important, cause… just get your mother to explain that one. Someday you'll understand.**

**Keep your family close.**

**Don't be afraid to take risks, to trust, when it feels right, about people. That's how I met your mother.**

**Speaking of your mother, you have my permission to sabotage any dates she has with gomers, or rather jerks you don't like. If you like'em, that's another story, though, 'cause I want you both to be happy.**

**Voting. Is. Important. If you don't, I'll kick your ass.**

**Hold out for the real thing. Whatever, whenever. Just do it.**

**Remember that I love you. Always.**

I feel…_lost._ And found.

It's my dad. Funny, sarcastic, outrageous, demanding, kind, surprisingly perceptive.

But his bottom line? I love you.

That's it. That's always been it. Somehow, somehow I lost sight of that.

But now I've found it, and I know what I have to do.

* * *

I'm pacing. I've been here for the past half hour, ever since Sam and CJ 'fessed up to their scheme, and since Becca called to tell us JJ's been locked in his room for hours. CJ and Sam are with me. CJ's tried, unsuccessfully to get me to sit down. I won't. I'm worried. He's never done anything like this before.

Suddenly the door opens, and JJ shuffles out. He looks like hell. He's in the same boxers and ratty t-shirt, his glasses are crooked, and his hair is doing its best to go everywhere. God, I love this boy.

And then I look at his face. It's…_tearstained_. He looks lost. I have this incredible urge to just hold him, to rock him like I used to when his nightmares made him cry out.

"Dad?" He says it haltingly, almost pleading.

"It's all right, Jay." I open my arms, and he grabs me almost desperately.

"God, Dad. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." And then he starts to sob. I haven't seen my son cry since he was eight years old.

And so I do what a father can without bitterness. I forgive him.

"Shhh, Jay. It's all right. Calm down, son. It's all right. I'm here, Daddy's here, it's all right." Without realizing it, I've slipped into the mantra I used when quieting him as a baby. It's just, he's starting on these convulsing, hiccupping sobs, the same ones as…I guess it's instinct. "Shhh, boy. Shhh, son. I'm here. It's all right. It's all right, Jay."

He finally quiets, his body still shuddering with the sobs he's trying to suppress. I rub circles on his back, kiss his hair. "Good boy," I murmur, "it's really all right."

Finally he pulls away, looking embarrassed, not meeting my eyes.

I give a small grin. "I believe that was what your mother refers to as 'emotional purging.'"

He smiles weakly, then gives a wry laugh. "And how." He scratches his head. "Sorry. I just…sorry."

"No need. Absolutely none."

"Um, so, um…what do we do now?"

"I have no earthly idea."

He smiles, and I grin back.

It's a start.


	8. Turning the Tables: Becca's Revelations

Disclaimer: Nobody from the show is mine, more's the pity.

A/N: Here you go...the romance begins. Yes, I will work in some Donna and Suzy, I promise...I just need to establish this first. Feedback is a beautiful thing!

Oh, and y'all can thank witchofnovember for this...she inspired me to get these bits out quicker! ;0)

* * *

"Wait, don't tell me…a date with the incomparable Kim?" 

He grins easily, eyes shining beneath the recently acquired contacts. "You bet. So what's cooking?" He comes over to the stove and jabs quickly in the pot with a spoon. I slap his hand, but his eyes just twinkle at me as he brings the spoon to his mouth and closes his eyes in appreciation. "Mmmmm…Rebecca, you are a goddess. I'm sorry I'll miss it. If there's any left over, save me some, huh?"

I arch an eyebrow at him, and he immediately pouts, looking so exaggeratedly crestfallen that I laugh and push him towards the door. "Wait and see, Sonic!"

"HEY!" he yells in protest as he exits. I've been throwing hedgehog references at him ever since he started spiking his hair. Damn blond bimbos anyway. Why do they have to snap up the best men, and then cause them to change?

I'm very protective of Jay. Very few people call him that; his father, Toby Ziegler, maybe CJ; he lets very few people get away with it. I've known him since freshman year at Berkeley, when he was a sweet, intense kid with glasses and hair that stuck up all over. We're older now, but somehow JJ's kept a part of that younger self inside him, and I love that. I just don't want to see that change. I don't begrudge him a girlfriend, but please, can't he pick somebody human, at least? Someone who appreciates him for who he is and not who he could be? I mean, the man's getting a master's in secondary education; he spends his days student teaching. He's not about to go clubbing and get trashed at the drop of a hat.

Besides, if she knew what he was like drunk she wouldn't let him near a bar.

The door squeaks open and I turn, half hoping to see JJ, but it's Chris. He saunters over and drops a kiss on the top of my head. "Ciao, bella."

"Christoff, my darling."

"Did you miss me?"

"With the heat of a thousand suns."

"Knew it."

He leans over and sniffs appreciatively. "Homemade spaghetti sauce. I unequivocally adore you, loves. I shall be your slave." He drops down to his knees and clasps his hands together comically.

"Does this mean you'll do the dishes?"

"Maybe," he hedges. "Sure."

"Good enough for me."

"So, the J-man joining us?"

"No. Jay is out with the irrepressible Kimberly, and as this is Friday, we shall probably not see him till sometime tomorrow."

"Green's a good color on you, hon, but as to this particular shade, I don't know…"

"Stop it. It's not like that."

"**Really?**" His chin is resting on his steepled hands, his eyebrows raised.

"It's not. It's just, he's special, and I don't want that to change. I never thought something like this would happen, that he'd let a girl go completely to his head, to the detriment of everything else."

"She is a bitchy little cupcake, I have to admit. Straight men are so blind when it comes to women," he says with an amused gleam in his eye.

"Yeah, just remind me of that the next time you drag some vapid prettyboy in here."

"Hey, I have taste!"

"Some people have a taste for pickles and ice cream. Doesn't mean it's good."

"Watch it, Janet."

"You watch it, Chrissie."

"Wanna get drunk watching Nick at Nite?"

"Hell, yeah."

* * *

Have you ever tried to remove a drunken man's contacts? I don't recommend it. I think I'm gonna stipulate that if JJ wants to go out drinking, he takes his glasses along. Although, to be fair, I don't think he saw this one coming. 

Everyone else did, though.

When I opened the door tonight, my heart broke. For him. And then I got pissed. At her. How dare she screw around with JJ like that? Okay, so I don't know what happened, yet, but I'm sure it was her fault.

When I put him to bed (I know, that sounds really wrong, but…), he curled up into a little ball, snuggled into the pillow. His eyelashes are really long. Yeah.

That's what I love about JJ. He manages to balance his inherent boyishness with a totally adult passion and commitment. Someone with a smaller heart might use that intensity for merely personal gain, but he wants to make a difference, help people.

That's probably what she noticed. His passion. Sometimes, I swear to God, he practically vibrates with it, or something. Okay, so that was a bad word choice. Anyway, so she must have seen the potential in it, and he was blind enough to allow her to mold it into something else, or try to.

God, he's a numbskull. It didn't work, though, thank God, or she probably wouldn't have dropped him. Thank heavens for dubious favors.

* * *

So I've spent much of the day comforting Chris, who is inconsolably distraught about his role in exacerbating JJ's emotional turmoil. He put it exactly like that, no kidding. He was a psych major, and we all use big words around here. We try to outdo one another, and most of the time we get a kick out of it, but now, not really. 

Josh is here. He looks terribly anxious. His brow's furrowed and he's pacing. I wonder what happened between the two of them. We could hear them arguing, but not what they said. And then we saw Josh storm out, and later the arrival of CJ and Sam. And now this. Chris and I both knocked and tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't answer and the door was locked. After a while since Chris was freaking, and I was worrying, I called CJ. It might sound excessive, but with Chris babbling about emotional turmoil and clouding of reason I couldn't help it. I tried to tell myself that JJ wasn't that type, but with all that's changed in the past few months, I wasn't taking any chances.

CJ's sitting with Chris now, with Sam hovering nearby. I offer Josh a drink, anything he wants, but he only shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair distractedly. I put my hand on his shoulder and leave it there for a long moment. This time, he really looks at me. His eyes, the eyes he gave to JJ, shine with anguish and a fierce, fierce love. All I can do is give his arm another squeeze. He returns it, and for some reason this makes me feel better.

Chris begins to mumble about breaking the door down, but Josh surprises us all by cutting him off. "He'll come when he's ready. There's no rushing him, there never was, because he's his own man. He always was. But if he isn't out in half an hour we're forgetting I said that and getting a damn axe."

Josh's wry attempt at levity relaxes us all somewhat, and I'm just beginning to doze off, when I hear JJ's door open.

Oh, Jay, you sweet, sweet idiot.

He's a wreck. He's tousled and slouching and grimy. His glasses are halfway off, and his hair, well…let's just say that the gel is fighting its natural tendency for chaos and beginning to lose. It's quite a sight. Rather pathetic, really.

And rather endearing. Especially when you consider that all this is a family thing. It just proves that JJ really does love Josh, deep down, and always has. Why would he be…_crying? _

And now he's clutching Josh for dear life, and Josh is shushing him, comforting him. I sneak a glance at Chris; his eyes are bright with tears, and I put an arm around him. All may not be right with the world, but… it's a start.


	9. Turning the Tables: JJ's Revelations

Disclaimer: Nobody from the show is mine, more's the pity.

A/N: Here you go...the romance begins. Yes, I will work in some Donna and Suzy, I promise...I just need to establish this first. Feedback is a beautiful thing!

Um, the last line is JJ's...I know it's lame, but I wanted some sort of symmetry, and it's late. Forgive me.

Oh, and y'all can thank witchofnovember for this...she inspired me to get these bits out quicker! ;0)

* * *

I feel rather like a monk. Which is actually surprisingly pleasant. Tonight, the place is mine. Chris bolted hours ago, and Becca's got a blind date tonight. I've been listening to the sounds of primping for the last hour. Finally, I hear the door creak open. Thank God.

Whoa. Hel-lo. "That's a nice dress, there, Becc." It is. It's lavender, or lilac, or something, with a halter neck. She's got on stiletto heels, too. Huh. I never figured her for those. "You can walk in those things?"

"Yeah. Of course. What, do they look weird or something?"

"Becc, relax. You look beautiful."

"Well, I was informed the dress sets off my eyes, so…"

"It does." Becca has great eyes. They're big, and turquoise. Really distinctive.

"Well, a girl's gotta make the best of what she's got, so…"

What? "Hey. Rebecca. Come on, don't do that. Don't sell yourself short. You're wonderful. The guy's gonna take one look at you and faint. Talk to him for five minutes, and he'll be yours for life."

She rolls her eyes. "You are such a goon."

On impulse, I kiss her cheek. "I mean it. Have fun, Becca."

Right before she leaves, she turns, and gives me a long look that I can't really decipher.

* * *

I guess Chris is making a night of it. A month ago, I would have breezed in sometime Saturday afternoon, but I don't mind. I like the peace. I've been grading papers. I yawn, and stretch, and contemplate making a mug of tea before I head off to bed, when I hear a scuffling outside the door. I look through the peephole, see the top of Becca's head, and then the next moment, nothing. I open the door only to find her sprawl-sitting against the wall. She looks up, and grins at me. Uh-oh.

"Jay!"

"Hey, darlin'. Need a hand?"

"Guess so."

"I should think."

I grab her purse, which ended up on the floor a ways off. As I help her in, she asks a question that stops me in my tracks: "Am I really that repulsive?"

"Wha…"

"Maybe it's 'cause I'm not a blonde. Blondes have more fun. Do you think I should be a blonde?"

"Becca, sweetie, why don't we hold off on the decisions 'till tomorrow, okay? You need to sleep."

"But I want to figure it out. That's all. That's all."

She sounds…forlorn. Woebegone. Disenchanted. Hey, I'm an English teacher. The need to become a walking thesaurus strikes at the oddest moments. These aren't normally Becca-Synonyms, though.

I realize, suddenly, just how much I count on Becca. I count on her smile to cheer me in the mornings. I count on her ribbing me about everything. I count on her to listen and to yell at me when I leave my towel on the bathroom floor and put me to bed when I'm drunk and to tell me whether my outfit looks okay. Hell, I count on unmercifully teasing her for leaving her jogging gear all over the place…especially the sports bras.

Hey, I'm no saint.

And besides, I count on her smacking me with any available object in return, too.

So. Becca matters to me. Therefore, I need to figure out who my father needs to arrange to have audited. "What happened, hon?"

"Nothin'. Zilch. Zippo. Nada. That's what happened. He never showed."

Bastard. "Maybe, something just…"

"Save it, JJ. You know that's not it."

"Becca, I don't know anything."

"Sure, Mr. Gorgeous. You don't know anything."

"Sweetie, you've had too much to drink. You need sleep. I promise, things will look better in the morning," I say firmly.

She nods sleepily, and drops off. I get her to her bed, taking off her shoes and removing the clip from her hair. For the first time I notice the glints of gold in it, and its silky feel. I cover her gently with a blanket, and she burrows into it. "Turn the tables," she murmurs, deep in a dream. "Turntables."

"Yeah," I say softly. "The tables are definitely turning."

* * *

"Hey, sunshine."

I will kill. I will _so_ kill.

"Up, up. I've got coffee."

Well why didn't he say so? I open one eye, wince as I register the light, and roll over, grabbing my pillow and slinging it over my face. He tugs it away, and I give in. I feel too shitty to do anything else.

His eyes are big, deep brown. Full of concern, not teasing like I expected. "Come on, I've got breakfast. You should eat."

He leaves, and I notice for the first time that I'm still in my dress. "Jeez, JoJo, you had me sleep in the dress?" I pull on boxers and a t-shirt, and emerge grumbling. "It's not like you've never seen me in my underwear…" I glance in the mirror on my way out, see that my mascara is doing that raccoony thing. Oh well. It can wait. I need coffee.

"Well, yeah, but…"

Oh my god, he's actually blushing. That is too cute. "You weren't, ah, the worse for wear then, so…"

"It's not like I haven't seen yours when you're drunk."

"Yeah, but you're a girl. You have…girl stuff," he stammers.

I scowl at him over the rim of my coffee cup.

"Whatever, okay? Here, eat," he commands. He takes a plate out of the oven. Toast and scrambled eggs. A bowl of fresh melon. And…a muffin. A fresh, apple-cinnamon muffin. From my favorite bakery. I look up at him, and he shrugs. "I went running this morning."

"Thanks, Jay."

"You're welcome."

It's funny how two words can sometimes mean more than the most eloquent speeches, the most passionate love poems.

I eat in silence for a while. He sips his coffee and watches me. Eventually, we bicker over who gets the comics first and the last piece of toast. After we clean up, I walk over to him and put my arms around him, squeeze tight. "That was a really nice morning to wake up to. Anytime I can return the favor…"

"You do. Probably more than you should. Listen, Becc, can I tell you something?" Nonplussed, I nod. "Look, don't take this the wrong way, okay? I just want to make sure you know."

"Know what?"

"You're beautiful, Becca, inside and out. Regardless of whether some loser stands you up or not. Don't devalue yourself because some gomer's got his head up his butt, okay? Please. It upsets me."

I'm about to tease away the gravity in the conversation, when I really look at him. He's serious. He's got this worried, pleading look in his eye, too, like he's honestly distressed. I go up to him, give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Then I go to my room.

* * *

Well, it wasn't much, but it's a start. 


	10. 25, Nearly: Dance with Me

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

A/N: Hope you like it! The next bit will be JJ and Suzy, and who knows who else. I have an idea for a Suzy tangent, but if nobody's interested, I'm not sure if I'll do it. (Read: Please let me know!)

Feedback: Would be awesome. I've had an _interesting_ 12 hours, and feedback would help to reestablish my equilibrium. I know, I'm shameless, but there it is.

* * *

"Karaoke? You guys got karaoke?"

That was JJ. He's just enough of a dork to get excited over a karaoke machine. Not that I'm not, too; Karaoke is awesome, especially when slightly tipsy. And especially when the J-man is drunk off his ass, which, of course, happens just around the time the rest of us are slightly tipsy.

It'd Josh and Donna's 25th anniversary. Since they never had a wedding reception, everyone got together to throw them a big shebang of a party. All of the Bartlet crowd is here, along with other friends and colleagues, and, of course, JJ, Becca and I.

I adore Josh and Donna. And CJ, and Sam, and Ainsley. Hell, even Toby. They care. About me, as well as in general. I mean, the first time I met them, each and every one of them, they didn't know me from Adam, and yet they treated me as though I mattered, as part of the family. I know I make a big deal out of that, but honestly, until I went to college, I could count the people who gave a good goddamn about me on one hand. So I envy JJ. I envy him these people. Because they're his.

* * *

We have karaoke. How awesome is that?

"The karaoke was my idea," Sam says somewhat sheepishly.

"They could have figured that," Toby mutters. Sam just turns his wide blue eyes on Toby, slightly wounded, and Toby harrumphs.

"It'll be fun when everyone gets drunk, though," Sam points out.

"Do we have 'The Jackal?'"

"We do," Sam affirms smugly.

"All right then," Toby says, and wanders off. Sam follows him, questioning Toby's problems with karaoke. Even after all these years, a part of him still needs Toby's approval. Which in a way is comforting, because that's how it should be.

* * *

"JJ looks good."

"He does, doesn't he?"

"Seriously, Donna, he really looks good."

I watch my son from across the room. He does look good. He looks happy, too, and I'm glad. This year has been hard for him, and for Josh, and for me. I've never been so angry with him in my life. And angry with myself, for not seeing the situation for what it really was, and fixing it before it got as bad as it did. But now, peace has returned, after a _long_ hiatus. For once, my men resolved their issues without my help. I'm proud of them for that.

My men. It's hard to conceive that my baby is a full-grown man of twenty-five. He's over there, in his charcoal pants and black sweater, his brown eyes laughing, and all I can see is a little boy in grubby jeans and untied shoelaces, with the cutest little glasses on the face of the planet.

"He looks much better than that last time," CJ reiterates, her voice breaking into my thoughts. "I'm so glad."

Becca wanders by, and CJ calls out to her. "Hey, Becca. Dumb and Dumber persuade you to sing with them yet?"

"Yeah, right. I'm going to be too busy laughing at them to do any singing." CJ grins at her, and she smiles back, in perfect accord.

She looks tired. "Becca, sweetie, you look exhausted. Have you been working too hard?"

She grimaces. "Depends on who you ask. According to Abbott and Costello over there, yes. Especially Abbott," she mutters darkly.

I smile. "JJ been ragging you?"

"Like nobody's business. Which is rich, because he's redefined the word "workaholic." Do you know, he graded an entire set of multiple-essay exams last night? Not tha you could ever tell, damn the man." She chuckles self-deprecatingly. "I'm getting boring. I think I could use some champagne." Suddenly, she gives me a tight hug. "Happy Anniversary, Donna. You both deserve it, if anyone does."

I return her hug warmly, and then CJ and I watch as she grabs a glass of champagne, drinks it self-consciously, uneasily, in a corner. We watch as she startles at JJ's hand on her shoulder, shakes it off, and gives him an annoyed glance. We watch as JJ looks after her in consternation.

We watch.

CJ nudges me. "Is it just me, or is there some tension there?"

"As a woman who has watched entirely too many Disney movies, I feel extremely well-qualified to say that yes, there is definitely something there."

"To say nothing of personal experience," CJ remarks dryly, as Josh flashes me his brilliant grin across the room.

"Well, yes, there is that."

* * *

"She's avoiding me."

"This is news to you?"

"Chris, come on. Work with me here. You know. She's being weird."

"Well, you two have always had a rather quixotic dynamic."

"Chris, this is not the time for AdjectivaBee, okay?"

He tries to hold it in for a few seconds, but bursts out laughing anyway. "AdjectivaBee? Well, I think that's a new low, even for you."

"Chris."

He sighs. "Do you need me to explain this to you?" He regards me steadily until I have to look away. "Right. Look, neither of you has been very forthcoming as to what exactly went on between the two of you, but I can guess. It's not like I haven't seen it coming."

Huh? "JJ, don't do the deer-in-headlights thing, okay? You're not that dense."

"So what do I do?"

"Well, one of two things, I should think."

"But I don't want to hurt her."

"JJ, from the looks of things, I'd say she's hurting now."

"Yeah."

Suddenly, it hits me. "I need to make a statement."

"A statement?"

"A big bonanza of a statement."

"A big bonanza of a statement."

"Uh huh. Right here. Right now. Something she can't misconstrue, something bold."

"In other words, something embarrassing."

"Right."

* * *

"Do you think we need to enlist the Sisterhood?"

"Not just yet, CJ."

"You do realize that JJ is one-half of this equation, don't you?"

I glance at her sharply. "Give him a little credit, there, CJ. He is my son too, you know."

"Yeah, but…"

"I know. I'm tired of waiting, too."

* * *

"_This _song?"

"Yup."

"JJ, you do know that this is, like, the kitschiest song in the universe, right?"

He steels himself in a manner reminiscent of a Gary Cooper hero, resigned yet fiercely determined. "Yup."

* * *

"You're sure."

"Yes."

"You're absolutely sure."

"Yes."

"Really."

"Christian."

"O-kay, then. Here we go."

* * *

"CJ. CJ, look!"

"What? Oh…that is so…"

"That is so sweet! Oh, Sam, look!"

"What, Ainsley? Wow." He's grinning. "Well, who knew."

"I don't see what all the fuss is about. All I see is a grown man making a fool of himself."

"Shut up, Tobus."

"He's making a statement, Toby."

"A statement, Sam?"

"Yes. Like the time Sam…"

"You know what, Ains? Why don't you just stop right there, before my last bit of credibility is, you know, torn to shreds."

"It was a good statement, Sam!"

"I know it was."

"A very good statement."

"Yes."

"Oh, for God's sake, get a room, would you?"

* * *

"He's bringing the woo, Josh."

"Yes, he is."

JJ's singing along to that "Dance with Me" song by Orleans. He's on his knees, in front of Becca, begging in an exaggerated fashion. She seems somewhere between pissed and giving in to amused hysteria. As it is, she's batting him away, but JJ just continues, undaunted. "A chip off the old block, Donna."

"Just keep telling yourself that, hon."

* * *

"You stupid ass."

"_Dance with me, I want to be your partner.  
Can't you see the music is just starting?"_

"Get up, you fool."

"_Let it lift you off the ground.  
Starry eyes, and love is all around us…"_

"JJ, what can I do to make you stop?"

"_Dance with me…"_

"Not a chance in hell, pal."

"Fine then, I'll just keep singing. Chris, start it again, would ya?"

"No no no. No. Chris, do not start it again. We've had quite enough of an exhibition for tonight."

"Come on, you know you loved it."

"As a matter of fact I didn't."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"_Really?"_

Damn. I just can't do it. He's giving me the puppy eyes. "No."

"Rea-Wait, what?"

"I said no."

"To the fact that you didn't love it."

"Yes."

"So you did love it."

"I must be deranged, but yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"_Really?"_

"JJ, please don't tell me we have to go through this again. Yes, okay?"

He looks all smug. "I am da man."

"You are."

"I am _so_ da man."

"Yes."

" I am so…"

"Just shut up and kiss me, would you?"

He looks a bit stunned. "Well, okay."

I hate to say it, but when it comes to kissing, he is _sooo_ da man.

* * *

Lyrics of "Dance with Me" by Orleans. Give it a listen.

Dance with me, I want to be your partner.  
Can't you see the music is just starting?  
Night is falling, and I am falling.  
Dance with me.

Fantasy could never be so giving.  
I feel free, I hope that you are willing.  
Pick your feet up, and kick your feet up.  
Dance with me.

Let it lift you off the ground.  
Starry eyes, and love is all around us.  
I can take you if you want to go.

Dance with me, I want to be your partner.  
Can't you see the music is just starting?  
Night is falling, and I am falling.  
Dance with me.

Let it lift you off the ground.  
Starry eyes, and love is all around us.  
I can take you if you want to go.

Dance with me, I want to be your partner.  
Can't you see the music is just starting?  
Night is falling, and I am falling.  
Dance with me.


	11. 25, NearlyConfessions, Cartoons, and Coc...

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

A/N: Not sure about this one. I know I always say that, but it's true! Let me know, if you have a chance. Many thanks to all of you who've read and reviewed, if I haven't said so before. Your support and interest keeps me going, and cheers me after a long, cold day. You're super!

* * *

The first time Suzy and I watched cartoons together, it was an accident. By the time she was six or so, Dad split his time between political consulting and teaching, and Mom taught as well. Since years of being major power players in the political scene made their sleep habits irregular, to say the least, it became an unspoken rule in our house that nobody had to be doing anything constructive on the weekends until 11 or so. Translated, this meant: Don't bother Mom and Dad unless there's a life-threatening emergency.

So. My mother would keep a cup of milk and the cereal where Suzy could safely reach it, and she could then happily munch and watch cartoons till Mom eventually came down and made her stop.

This one particular morning, however, the cereal ended up on the top shelf; Dad probably snuck some of Suzy's Cocoa Puffs and forgot about her Saturday ritual. Anyway, for some reason that I can't remember, I was up, and actually wandering around at 7:00 or so, when I came upon my baby sister standing on her tiptoes on a chair, vainly trying to reach her cereal. Needless to say, she gave me heart palpitations for a minute, and I got the cereal for her myself. I settled her in front of the TV and ruffled her hair. And then she asked: "JJ, will you watch with me?"

Now, as a self-respecting high school student, I fully intended on going back to bed and remaining there until someone woke me up. I turned, denial on my lips, until I saw her face. Her blue eyes, seeming somehow even bigger with the pleading look in them, slowed exactly how much she wanted me to stay. With parental tension, and school, and generally being a sixteen year-old, I didn't spend a great deal of time with my sister, one on one. She still had me wrapped around her finger, but… So that morning I just couldn't say no. I smiled, and went and got the Fruity Pebbles. When I came back, she was beaming, and flung herself against me. It felt…_nice_. And so it became tradition.

"Hey, Tulip."

"Well, well. Look who decided to show up."

I grin at her. "Now, now, none of that."

"I realize other women rate higher on your list of priorities at the moment, but is that really a good reason to stand a girl up?"

She's teasing, but I think there's some genuine hurt there, too. With all the stuff that's been going on in my life lately, over the last few years, I haven't kept in touch as well as I should have. I cover her hand with mine. "You know I love you the 'absolutely mostest,' don't you?" I query, quoting her childhood phrase.

She smiles. "Yeah."

"Look, sweetie, I got… messed up, for a long time, and I'm sorry you got caught in the crossfire. But I think I've finally got the important things figured out, so…"

Suddenly, she cuts me off, with a mischievous gleam in her eye. "Hey, can I call you Casanova?"

"No."

"I'll do it anyway."

"Of course."

"That was a good move last night, bro. You looked like a complete idiot, but it was a good move."

"Thanks, I think."

"I'm glad for you."

"Thank you, honey." I grab her hand and just hold it for a second. "So. What's new in you life, hot stuff?"

She rolls her eyes. "Nothing, really. School, soccer, more school, babysitting, a chance to model…"

I choke on a mouthful of Fruity Pebbles. "I beg your pardon?"

She sighs. "Exactly. That's what I've been getting from everyone."

"So how exactly did this happen?"

"Jessie's aunt works in New York for an agency. She was visiting one weekend when I stayed over and suggested it. I thought she was kidding, but right before I left she gave me her card. So I sent some pictures, on a whim, and it turns out they'd like me to try it."

"So you'd what, live there?"

"Yeah."

"Jeez, Suze. All the time I spent trying to get out of here and you're gonna be the one who actually does it." I look at her in admiration, and then I just plain look at her. Sometimes I forget just how stunning my little sister really is. It's rather unnerving; I used to pick her up from kindergarten, after all. As I've mentioned, her eyes are impossibly large and blue; cropped hair that always reminded me of the color of pale sweet corn makes them seem even larger. Dad could never refuse her anything, and now all she has to do to get her way is blink at him; I heard him grousing about it yesterday. Her features are delicate, but with Dad's determined chin, and she's as tall as I am.

With all that, and coming from Lyman stock as she does, you might expect her ego to be through the roof. Nope. She's extremely quiet and shy, except with close family and friends. Unlike the rest of us, she barely ever loses her temper. She's got one hell of a stubborn streak, though, and when she's on a mission you don't want to get in her way. But…

"Suze, are you sure? You're the one who can't bear to perform in violin recitals," I rib her gently.

She laughs. "I know, I know. It's just, sometimes it feels like I'm trapped here. Everyone expects me to be a certain way, and I'm not sure if I really am that way, deep down. If I stay I'll never find out. You understand?"

"Who do you think you're asking?" I grin. "What did Dad say?"

"Oh, God," she groans. "First he stared at me as though I'd grown a second head, mouth open like a fish. Then came 'No, absolutely not,' et cetera, et cetera, yadda yadda yadda. Then it was just generalized raving. Then Mom took over."

"Mom?" I'm a bit surprised. Of course she'd be worried, and have questions, but she usually gives us the courtesy of at least hearing us out first.

"Yup. You know, she went off on her 'objectification of women' thing. She didn't exactly say no, but I could tell she was disappointed in me for thinking about it."

"Why are you thinking about it then, Suze? I know you well enough to know it isn't the glamour."

"To see things. Be independent. Earn money for college."

"You know you don't need to…"

"I want to!" she bursts out. "I want to go to med school, JJ. I don't want to have to worry about massive loans or skimming for tests because I'm working constantly in between classes. This will help, at least. I don't want to live off of Mom and Dad, either."

"They don't mind…"

"But _I_ do!"

See what I mean? Stubborn.

"So what do you think?"

"If it's what you really want, then go for it, sweetie. Just make sure."

"So, you're not going to go mental thinking of some adolescent prick jacking off while looking at a picture of me in my underwear?" she asks with yet another devilish gleam in her eye.

Suddenly I feel a little sick. "SUZY!"

"Yes?" She questions sweetly.

"Don't…_do_ that to me." Wow, I sound kind of strangled.

"I'm just quoting Dad." At my raised eyebrow, she elaborates. "No, he didn't say that to me. Of course he didn't. I heard him and Mom talking after they thought I had gone to bed. He was kind of…worked up, I guess."

Yeah, now that I think about it, it does sound like something Dad would say. "Don't worry about it, Suze. It's just Dad's way of…coping."

"So you'll back me up?" Her eyes are pleading.

"Heck, yeah. Sure."

Her smile blooms. "Thanks, JJ."

"I swear to god, though, Susanna, I see any pictures of you in _anything_ resembling underwear I'll lock you in the tower myself."

"Deal. Maybe." She smiles, and then looks hesitant, wistful. I think I know what she's feeling. Things are changing. She's growing up, and despite all her assertions to the contrary, I doubt she's entirely happy about it. When I admitted it to myself, I wasn't all that happy about it either, upon occasion.

She sighs, and then looks over. "Can we just watch cartoons now?" I nod, and she scoots over next to me, leans against me. I wish I could make it easier for her. Time was, all it took was a bowl of Cocoa Puffs and some Looney Tunes. But it isn't that simple anymore.

* * *

I creep quietly down the stairs. Josh and I need coffee terribly, but I don't want to wake anyone. That's why I'm making it instead of Josh. He has no capacity for stealth. Multiple people crashed here last night, and they need their rest. Especially the kids. So I'm doing it. I don't think Josh really minds, though, judging by how quickly he settled back under the covers.

I stop short when I notice the TV's soft hum, and then I see the two of them on the couch, asleep. God, it's been awhile since I've seen that beautiful sight on a Saturday morning. A feeling of complete contentment warms me as I look at them.

They've been doing this for years. Sometimes, when we came down, they'd be cooking breakfast, singing along softly to whatever song was on the radio. Those first few years, Suzy would be covered in pancake batter, and JJ would be peering into the bowl of eggs, attempting to pick out the shells with a look of distaste on his face, and splatters of the batter in his hair. Other times, they'd still be sprawled in front of the TV, Suzy cuddled in JJ's arms, with her head on his chest. And other times, like today, they'd be asleep, amidst pillows, crumbs, and bowls of multicolored milk.

That last one was always my favorite.

Even if we were up, Josh and I never came down before the appointed hour. We wanted them to have their time, their memories, together. Josh was adamant about it. He has so few memories of Joanie, and even fewer of just the two of them. He wanted JJ and Suzy to have that.

JJ stirs and pouts a bit in his sleep, mutters. When he quiets, I reach out and stroke his hair. Even after a good night's sleep, he still has slight circles under his eyes. He works himself too hard, stubborn boy. Just like his father. His cheeks are slightly flushed, like always, and with a fond smile, I notice the spot of drool on the pillow. It's strange what one finds endearing, but there it is.

And Suzy. Our miracle baby, our gift. Josh cried when I told him. Full-out sobbed. He never really allowed himself to grieve, not until then, for the pain, for the lost time, for yet another reminder of his fallibility. Our tears mingled when I held her in my arms for the first time. Josh ran a finger over her cheek and his hand gripped mine hard, and he whispered a broken, muffled "Thank you" into my neck.

And now she wants to leave us. Josh is plotting, trying to figure out a way to keep her here, but I know better. Underneath the gentleness, she's got a spine of steel. Too many people overlook that determination of hers. I'm not thrilled over the venture either, but it could be good for her, in a way. I have yet to convince Josh of that; I keep telling him the best way to "keep" her is to let her go, let her try her wings. I don't want us to make the same mistakes with her that we made with JJ. It took too long to bring our boy back home; I don't think I could stand another heartache like that, to say nothing of Josh.

All of a sudden I feel arms slip around my waist, warm breath on my cheek. "Good morning, Joshua."

"Morning, Donnatella. Whatcha doin'?"

"Looking." I turn my head a bit, just in time to see his eyes get soft.

"Huh. Look at that." His voice is slightly raspy. "Look at that."

"You said it, Daddy."

We stand for a few minutes in the quiet, and watch together. After a few minutes, I ask the question: "Josh. What are we going to do about Suzy?"

He sighs, runs a hand over his face. "Let her go," he says softly. "Let her go."


	12. Suzy at 17: Gloves and Gummy Worms

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

A/N: Wow, it's been a while. I hit a block with this, and life has been busy. I was trying to determine whether I wanted this one to actually have an overt point, and couldn't, for a long time. As is, it's just some fun little vignettes, nothing really serious. I just took the characters out for a spin. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

I stand on tiptoe, craning my neck in every direction. Really, people shouldn't be this tall. It should be, I don't know, a crime or something.

I'm at the arrivals gate at National, because Suzy's coming home today.

Suzy's coming home today, for the holidays.

It'll be the first time she's been home since the summer, right before she went to New York in the first place. She calls a lot, per parental directive. She also sees Toby, who's spending his time gleefully terrorizing undergrads at NYU, quite a bit. Once again per parental directive. Despite everyone's assertions that she's doing fine, doing wonderfully, I won't believe it until I see her for myself.

There she is. My heart swells in my chest, and I have to order myself to get a grip. I'm on strict orders not to…emotionally implode, in any manner.

"Suzy!"

She's tall, and beautiful, and when she turns and sees me her entire face lights up, and I know why they're so crazy to photograph her up there.

But then, I've always known.

* * *

Why the hell did I wear these shoes? Sure, they look good, but my feet are killing me. A bench, a bench, my kingdom for a bench…

"Suzy!"

Dad? What's he doing here? My father always has somewhere to be, in the middle of the day. But he's here. Well. Yay.

He's got on his sunglasses, and he's flashing me that mega-watt grin, and it's so _normal_, so familiar, that this joy bubbles up on me, faster than I can tamp it down. I don't much care, though, because I'm too busy flinging myself at him.

* * *

I suddenly feel inexplicably uneasy. I've been counting the days, and now she's finally here, but…it seems different. She looks trendy, and classy, and adult, in jeans, a white button-down shirt, and a brown leather jacket. She's got a new perfume, too. Adult again. Expensive.

I don't quite know how to approach her, so I settle for cocking an eyebrow at her. Yes. That's a suitably inscrutable expression. It must work, 'cause she blushes slightly. "What?" she asks.

"Nothin'."

"What?"

"Nothing!"

She rolls her eyes at me. "Honestly, Daddy." There we go. There's my Suzy. "You must have really missed me, huh?"

"Who, me?" I smile wickedly. "Nah. Why would I want you around? Anyway, you ready to blow this joint? Let's get out of here."

* * *

As we near the doors, I shiver, both with excitement and as a result of the cold wind. Of course, my father, usually so clueless, notices immediately. "Baby, you cold?"

"I'm fine."

He starts to shrug out of his overcoat. "Here, take this."

"I'm _fine_."

"It's no problem-"

"Dad."

"Right."

We stand for a few minutes, waiting for a cab, and I hate to admit it, but I am getting cold. Especially my hands. I feel my pockets, realizing that for some unknown reason I decided to pack my gloves. Damn. Surreptitiously, I glance at my father's pockets, looking for the telltale bulge. There. Maybe if I-

"Susanna, take the gloves."

Oh. Okay.

* * *

Stubborn as a mule. A very pretty mule, but still, you know, a mule. Donna says she gets it from me.

I have absolutely no idea what she's talking about.

But back to Suzy. Like, right now, her shoes are bothering her, I can tell. But has she said anything? Made a single peep? Nope. Nope nope nope. Well, if she's not saying anything, I'm definitely not saying anything. Nope. Not me. Not a word. Not a single-

"So. Those are nice shoes, there."

She turns to me and smirks. "I knew it. I knew you wouldn't be able to do it."

"Do what?"

"Go ten minutes without mentioning the fact that my shoes look uncomfortable."

"I didn't say that! Well, maybe indirectly," I amend, in response to her pointed look. "God, you sound just like your mother. Anyway," I ask, as we get into the cab and she slides her shoes off with a grateful sigh, "why'd you wear those shoes, anyway? You're already tall enough."

She shoots me a satisfied, smug smile, and says loftily, "Because I can." She pauses, and then adds, "And to make CJ weep with envy, of course."

I grin at her. "That's my girl."

* * *

"Those shoes are fabulous!" CJ leans down to examine them more closely. Suzy smiles, and Josh attempts to stifle a guffaw. I glare at him, then turn my attention back to CJ and the others, who are busy peppering my daughter with questions.

"How was the flight?"

"Fine. Fabulous actually; I got some sleep. Afterwards, though…"

"What happened?"

She rolls her eyes, then exhales. "Oh, nothing. Some loser ogled me by the baggage claim." The women all murmur sympathetically, and I steal a glance at Josh, already picturing the look on his face. Yup, there we go, he's turning red. God, the man is reliable as Old Faithful.

"A guy _leered_ at you by the baggage claim?"

"Yes. Jeez, Daddy, it's not as though it's never happened before. I'm a tall, leggy blonde; I'm used to it. Anyway, nothing happened. I shot him the Glare of Death and he stopped."

"What if that hadn't been enough?" And there's the agitated squeaking, right on schedule.

"She could always impale him on one of her shoes," JJ chimes in with a grin. Suzy shoots him a dirty look, and everyone relaxes. JJ tugs on Josh's sleeve, indicating the kitchen with a jerk of his head. "Come on, Dad, let's go speak as men do. Come on, guys."

The men are heading towards the kitchen when Chris adopts a deliberately perplexed expression. "Hey. Does that, you know, include me, or…?" He grins.

JJ rolls his eyes. "For God's sake, Chris," he mutters, and hustles Chris off to the kitchen. Just before he enters, JJ turns around and winks, and we all grin at him. God, it's good to have everyone here again.

* * *

For some unfathomable reason, Josh decided to brave the holiday crowds and take Suzy to a movie. I know they've returned when I hear the strains of a spirited conversation of some sort becoming louder and louder. Josh enters first, with his smarmy stubborn face on, and Suzy follows, alternately issuing comebacks and tugging bits off of a bright gummy worm with her teeth.

I should have known. Ever since I can remember, Suzy's been fascinated by the concept of those Pick n' Mix centers, that she can get all sorts of candies at once. She's always picked the most disgusting, the most garish treats I've ever laid eyes on. Josh loves to make his little girl happy though, and so the tradition stuck. I'm glad she's not too old for it. I think Josh would be heartbroken otherwise. Still, I have to protest for appearance's sake.

"Really, Susanna, after all the money we spent on orthodontia…"

She takes another bite of her gummy worm, grinning guiltily, and I turn to my husband. "Josh?"

He fidgets. "You can't argue with tradition, Donna. And besides, aren't you the one who gorged on those peach things when you were pregnant with her?"

"You were more than happy to ply me with them, as I recall," I retort.

"Only because I feared the retribution…" He turns to Suzy. "Hormones," he says matter-of-factly, and I glare at him.

"Well, at least I saved our son from your unhealthy indulgences," I sniff as JJ jogs down the stairs.

"Hey, did anybody get me gummy bears?" he asks breathlessly.

Josh scowls at him. "What do I look like, a personal delivery service?" But then he grabs a bulging plastic bag from his pocket and tosses it at JJ. "Here."

"Hey, thanks, Dad."

"No sweat." He grins a happy little grin.

And this is the man who boasts of making Republicans cry? Honestly.


	13. Suzy at 20: The Perks of Pneumonia

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

A/N: Okay, so this new pairing started bouncing around in my head months ago…are people interested in more? The more who tell me they are, the more I will write. I will of course also get back to our already established characters; I would just appreciate your opinion on how much time I should spend developing yet _another_ storyline. Feedback is a great motivator. Also, I may decide to do a segment on Chris, if I feel the urge, so let me know! Many thanks.

* * *

I sink wearily into the hard plastic hospital chair. For the moment, there's nothing I can do. Much as I hate to admit it, that feels good. I'm grateful. Finally, I give in to the headache and the exhaustion that's been brewing for a while. I pop a few Sudafed, hoping that will leave me coherent enough to take in whatever I have to do for Meredith. Not to mention study later, if I can.

No, I'm not unsympathetic. She's my roommate, for God's sake. I just…I have a lot to do. I'm Pre-med, and average grades are not an option. Besides, if I stopped to process everything that's been happening lately, I'd totally lose it. No. Can't do that. The only thing left is to stay totally focused. That'll get concrete results. That I can control.

But…I'm _really_ tired. And my head hurts. It's getting all foggy. And when I cough, there's a pain in my chest. So I guess it won't hurt if I just close my eyes for……………

* * *

"Miss?"

I open one eye, find a young doctor standing over me. "Miss, we've taken your friend up to surgery. She'll be here for a few days."

"Will she be alright?"

"Assuming the surgery goes without complications, she should be just fine."

"You didn't exactly answer my question."

"That's all I know right now. I'm sorry." And he really does look sorry. "Is there someone you should call? Her family?"

"Her sister. I have the number…" I rifle through my purse, find my planner, and go to stand up, but I'm suddenly so lightheaded all I can do is sit down again.

"Are you alright?"

"What? Oh. Yes. I just have a cold." I end on a ragged cough. Now that I let myself think about it, it does sound pretty bad.

"Since you're here, why don't we get you checked out? I don't like the sound of that cough."

"Oh, no, really…"

"Do me a favor, huh? Humor me. Now, you sit down over here. I'll go make that phone call."

* * *

"No." I look piteously at the resident, then glare at that pesky intern, who's hovering in the "doorway."

"Yup," the resident says cheerfully. "I'll call upstairs." He leaves, and "that pesky intern" cautiously enters my cubicle.

I give him as evil a look as I can without making my head hurt worse, and all he does is give me a sympathetic half-smile. "It won't be so bad."

"Says you. I have studying to do."

"May I ask what for?"

"Pre-med."

He laughs. "Ah, the irony. Then you should know better. I'll bet you five bucks you haven't been taking proper care of yourself."

"Excuse me?"

"How much sleep do you get per night? When's the last time you ate a balanced meal?" His eyes have a challenge in them, and all I can do is look away, because he's right. "Sorry," he says suddenly. "It's just, I've been there. But I shouldn't have been so harsh. I'm not usually, really."

"Sure."

"No, really. I'm sorry."

I sigh. "It's okay. Besides, you're right, I do feel like crap."

He smiles. "Hey, look at it this way. You'll get some well-earned rest, and you'll get better faster than if we just gave you some medicine to take home. Pneumonia's no joke."

"Yeah. But that doesn't mean I don't still want to hurt you."

He grins. "Occupational hazard."

* * *

"Hey there, genius."

"Oh. It's you."

"Yup."

"Well, thanks to you, I've spent all day being shallow. I'm now thoroughly disgusted with myself. May I go home now?"

"Afraid not. Hey, don't pout, I brought you something."

"What?" He holds up some magazines. "People? Oh my God."

"I figured you for the guilty pleasure type. There's Time though, too."

"Thanks. Really. I appreciate it. And I'm sorry for being snotty. It's just, there's so much going on…and I called home today, and had to deal with my father's "I told you so" controlled hysteria mentality…"

"I beg your pardon?"

"My father's been under the impression that I've been on the verge of some form of nervous breakdown for years, steps away from anorexia, what have you."

"I know what you mean."

"You're anorexic?"

"Funny. No, but my brothers are built like linebackers, and as you can see, I'm not, so…"

No, he's not. He's tall and skinny, and he looks tired. His hair's a little shaggy, and he has glasses. But his eyes are a nice green, and he has really cute little freckles. His hair's an unusual color, somewhere between bronzed and dark strawberry blond. He kind of reminds me of Carter. You know, on ER. Just a genuine nice guy, cute in a careless sort of way. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Me? Ah, MacKenna. Dr. MacKenna."

"I meant your first name."

"Oh. It's Barry, actually. You're Susanna, right?"

"Suzy, please."

"Okay. So _why_ does your father think you're constantly on the verge of collapse?"

"Oh, he's been doing that for years, ever since I moved away from home."

"Boarding school or something?"

"No. I used to model. I went to high school and worked in the city."

"Wasn't that tough, being on your own, no family?"

"Well, like I said, I'm Pre-med, so the money'll help. I'm not going to be beholden to my parents. And I liked the independence, being able to discover new things without having parents constantly looking over my shoulder. Besides, we have a close family friend that lives in the city. He's like a second father, really, and my dad stipulated that I see him at least twice a month, so he could hear from a reliable source that I was still, you know, breathing, and all that. Anyway, so I think the excessive fussing is just Dad's way of feeling like an involved parent, or whatever."

"Parents, huh?"

"You said it."

Suddenly he's looking a bit bashful. "Um, listen, I don't usually do this, but you're not my patient anymore, okay so technically you never really were, which is even better…um…could I have your number? To call you sometime?"

He's looking everywhere but at me, and there's a flush in his cheeks. "Not so glib now, are you, Doc?"

"Damn. You found me out."

There it is, that smile again. Yeah, he's getting my number. But not before I mess with him some more. "Couldn't you just, you know, look it up?"

"That would be unethical," he says uncomfortably.

"And asking me out isn't?"

"Look, are you gonna give me your number or not?"

"Sure, what the hey. You can help me with Orgo, if nothing else."

"Great. Excellent. I'll call." He gives me a small smile, and then he's gone.

* * *

"So it really doesn't bother you?" I regard him hopefully.

"What, that I'm sitting across from a very pretty girl?"

"Well, yeah," I admit, feeling foolish. "The whole model thing. It tends to intimidate guys. And then turn them into horny sleazeballs." He chokes on his soda a bit, and I smile at him.

He regards me earnestly. "Susanna, you're gorgeous, amusing, and smart as hell, and, well, I'm the guy who got through high school by keeping his head down and his nose in a book. Let's just say I'm still not necessarily used to girls like you noticing a guy like me. So you're not the only one feeling unsure here. Let's just take it one step at a time, okay?"

"Girls like me?" I grin as he squirms a bit. "So, you were, like, a geek in high school?"

"Guilty."

"Well, I wish you would've told me that sooner. I don't know whether I can be seen with you now." His astonished eyes snap up to meet mine, and as I snicker at him, he blushes adorably, in the manner I've come to expect, and I throw a French fry at him.

"That's right, take advantage of my bruised psyche there, Miss America."

"You can count on it."

"My pleasure." He ducks his head when he says this, his face turning red once again.

He's serious.

How completely, singularly wonderful is that?


	14. Suzy at 21: Into the Lion's Den

Rating: Teen, I guess.

Disclaimer: Original WWers not mine.

A/N: Dude, I should totally send out distress calls more often. Thanks for all the reviews. This is for you guys. I know I didn't put in a lot of JJ and Becca, but they haven't really been speaking to me lately. Never fear, though. I am certain they shall break their silence. This may be it for a while; the film festival I run on campus takes place this weekend, so there's mad amounts of work to be done. I already postponed my Psych reading for this, although this is tons more fun. As always, let me know how you like it! Does it seem disjointed? I heart feedback, and the slew of responses last time is what got this longish bit out so quickly. So if you want me to hurry with more, you know what to do. Thanks, guys. You're the best. Oh, and the point values for Scrabble are not based on actuality. My apologies to any aficionados.

* * *

"Rascal. Six letters, thirty points."

"Huh. Well. V-i-x-e-n. Five letters, doubles on the 'v,' triples on the 'x.' Forty-eight points. So drink up, geek boy."

I watch as Barry takes a long swig of his rum and Coke. My birthday was this past Wednesday, but tomorrow's the first full day Barry has off. He didn't want to drink when he had to be at work the next day. So. Friday night. Scrabble, pizza, booze, and Barry. As he finishes, I grin at him. "Damn. I should have stipulated Strip Scrabble."

"Believe me, babe, you're not the only one who's sorry."

I give him my Cheshire Cat smile and lick one of the Tootsie Pops he brought me seductively.

"You better watch it, Slim."

"Do your best, Steve." Barry has a thing for old movies. He loves to just sit on the couch and cuddle while we watch, which is great, since I'm really not much of one for going out, usually. Except, he usually ends up falling asleep. He just gets so tired lately.

Judging from the gleam in his eye, though, he's not tired now. "No. Do not even think about it. Barry-arrrgh!" The pillow beats down on my head; I snatch one up and begin chasing him around the apartment. He's walking backwards, mocking me in between blows, when all of a sudden he trips, tangling up his long legs, and I pounce on him, tickling him hard. We're both laughing, when all of a sudden there's a knock at the door.

Laughing, with one of Barry's arms still twined around my waist, I stumble towards the door. "Toby!"

"Hello, Suzy."

I disentangle myself from Barry's grasp. "Wha…What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I was in the neighborhood." His eyes twinkle, although his expression remains stern.

"Well. Great." I cast a glance around the living room. It looks like a hurricane came through here. The table's covered with dirty plates, pizza boxes, and the makings of our drinks, there are pillows everywhere, and we kind of knocked over the unused Scrabble tiles, too. Turning away from this disheartening scene, I direct my attention towards Barry, standing rather warily behind me. "Oh, jeez, sorry. Toby, this is Dr. Barry MacKenna. He's a resident at the hospital. Barry, this is Toby Ziegler, an old friend of the family."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

"You, too." Toby takes in the scene before him. "Playing Scrabble, were you?"

"Yes."

"Good game, Scrabble. I happen to be in the word business myself." He cocks an eyebrow at Barry, takes in his shirt and boxers. "You aren't playing strip Scrabble with my niece, are you, doctor?"

"No, sir," Barry stutters.

"Well, what the hell's wrong with you?"

Barry looks to me for help. I'm mortified. This…this reeks of plotting. "Did you need something, Toby?" I ask sweetly.

He notes the syrup in my tone and smiles. "I needed simply to remind you that since Thanksgiving is coming up, and Barry actually has some time off, for once, and you made the mistake of informing your mother of the fact, that barring some apocalyptic disaster, you are both expected at the Lyman homestead for Thanksgiving. Your father is especially looking forward to finally meeting your young gentleman."

"I just bet. And he couldn't just, you know, call me?"

"He decided that this would be a good form of reinforcement. As the loser of a bet, the nature of which shall remain undisclosed, I got to do the honors."

"Hurrah for you."

"Yes. Well, I'd better crawl back into my academic hole. Suzy, honey, try and keep your head in the game. Barry, nice to meet you." He moves to the doorway, and I sigh in relief. But then…

"Oh, doctor? Remember, the night is still young."

I shut the door in his face.

* * *

"Now, if I know anything, I know that you can expect more abuse from the male members of my family."

"Suzy, really, it's okay."

"It doesn't freak you out a little?"

"I have two older brothers, Sue-Sue. There is very little that I have not seen or to which I have not been subjected."

"True. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Deal."

I open the door, my excitement mixing with the dread of what might befall my hapless boyfriend within these walls. "We're here!"

My father bounds down the stairs. "Hi, Princess!" He hugs me and grabs my bags. "How was the trip?"

"Fine. Daddy, this is Barry."

"So you're the latest gomer, huh?"

Having been educated in LymanSpeak, for once Barry's not at a loss. "I have that honor, yes sir, dubious as it may be."

I pole him in the ribs, and he grins. I address my father. "He's a doctor, Dad, not a gomer."

"You're saying there's a difference?"

"Funny."

Oh, thank God, Mom's here. "Hi, Mom!"

"Hi, sweetheart. How are you?"

"Good."

"And you must be Barry. I'm so happy to meet you, finally. I'm glad you could join us. Your family didn't mind?"

"Oh, no. I haven't been able to get home for years. Besides, I'd much rather be here than at the annual MacKenna Football and Fingerfood Frenzy."

"Well, you're most welcome, sweetheart. Do you want something to drink? No, no, sit down, I'll get it. You look exhausted."

"Sorry. I came off a long shift early this morning, and I haven't been feeling too swift lately."

"Well, we'll make sure you get plenty of rest. JJ, honey, there you are. And there's my Sarah. Hello, angel."

I look up and see my brother coming down the stairs with his infant daughter. "Jay!"

He smiles. "Hey, Tulip. Sorry I couldn't get down here earlier, but Daddyhood calls."

"That's fine. Gosh, she's so big!"

"Six months," he says proudly, and jiggles her up and down."

"You look like your Daddy, sweetheart." She really does. She's got JJ's curly hair and facial features. "And your Momma's gorgeous eyes."

"She's certainly got her Daddy's temperament," cracks Becca, coming down the stairs. "Whine, whine, whine. Needs Mommy every five seconds, don't you, tadpole?"

"Becca, you look great."

You too, hon, thanks. At least I don't waddle anymore."

"Becca, you didn't waddle."

"Yes, JJ, I did. I waddled like a…well, I was too big to be a duck…like a goose."

"Well, let me say that for the record, this particular gander found it very enticing." He kisses her nose.

"Yeah, yeah, Merriam Webster…you just want extra _pie_. It's Chris. I fling myself at him. He's one of my favorite people. I eye his flowered apron. "Chris, you look so…domestic."

He strikes a pose. "I know, such a cliché," he drawls. "So where's your boytoy? I wanna see! Ooohhh, he's _cute!_"

And that, my friends, is the final acceptance of Barry into this circus.

* * *

Uh oh, my throat's scratchy again. Damn. I might as well get up, I guess. Little Sarah didn't help much either, cutie pie that she is. Apparently she doesn't recognize the value of sleep yet. JJ was singing to her last night; I heard him. He picked a nice hymn, I'll give him that. Speaking of the little angel, it seems like she's crowing already. I smile to myself as I put on sweats. It's not like I don't deal with this every morning, either, although not on a personal level. So I might as well give JJ and Becca a break.

I knock at their door. "Hey, JJ." He gives me a harassed smile. "I'm going downstairs for some breakfast. You want me to take her?"

"No, it's okay, man."

I look at him. His hair is mussed and he's a little stooped, and there are dark smudges under his eyes. "JJ, you're exhausted. I'm up, and I'm an Emergency physician specializing in Pediatrics. Trust me. I can handle a fussy baby."

"Well…okay. The food's in the far cabinet."

"Got it. Don't we, Miss Sarah?"

"Hey, Barry?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

* * *

I wander into the kitchen, yawning, and am surprised to find Barry making coffee. My granddaughter is nestled contentedly in her bouncy seat, gnawing on her fist.

"Good morning."

Barry turns quickly, startled, and in doing so bangs his head on the door of the cabinet. "Ow. Oh, hi, Ms. Moss." He reddens in embarrassment.

I smile at him. "Donna. Need some ice, honey?"

"No, I'm good. Thank you." He smiles shyly.

"Well, breakfast then? What would you like?"

"Cereal's fine."

"Boy, did you pick the right house. Cereal's a tradition here. Let's see. There's Fruity Pebbles for JJ, Lucky Charms for Chris, Granola for Becca, Cocoa Puffs for Suzy…Josh and I get the healthy, although he would say boring, stuff…Raisin Bran and Cheerios. So. What's your pleasure?

He looks flummoxed, and a bit amazed. After a bit, I say, "You know, why don't you just tell me what you like? That way we can have it for you for next time."

"Oh, no, really…"

"It's no trouble."

"I appreciate it, but…" He pauses, considering, and then begins to speak haltingly, coming over to rub Sarah's little shoulder as though seeking comfort. "I have two older brothers. They were bigger, and faster, and stronger, so they always got to the good cereal first. See, my dad owns a garage, so he always had to be at work early. My brothers had practice, and a generally early start, so a lot of the time, when I finally got to the kitchen, they were heading out. Mikey, well, he's got a bit of a mean streak; he'd always leave the fun cereal where I couldn't reach it. So I developed quite a fondness for Raisin Bran," he finishes, with a lopsided grin. But beneath the levity, there's genuine pain in his eyes. Somehow I don't think it's just about the cereal, though.

"Barry? What about your mom?"

"She died…when I was born." His tone is casual, but I can tell it's forced. "Mom…understood Mikey. And then I was there and she was gone and…" He busies himself with pouring cereal, adding milk, shoulders hunched as much as possible. All of a sudden I can see him, that little boy, in an empty house, carefully making himself cereal and eating it alone, then trudging off to school on his own. It's heartbreaking, and infuriating, and I suddenly want to wring his brother's neck. I wish I could hug him, but not now. Instead, "Well, what kind of cereal would you like to try?"

He turns, pauses again, and then gives me a hopeful smile. "Apple Jacks?"

I write it on the grocery list.

* * *

"Morning, loves."

Oh my god. Oh my god. OH. MY. GOD!

"Chris, what in hell are you doing?"

"Greeting the day, buttercup, greeting the day."

"May I see you for a moment in the living room, Christian?"

"Certainly, my little marshmallow."

I drag him out of the kitchen. "Chris, what is that?"

"A rather fetching piece of intimate apparel."

"Cut the shit. How could you do this to me?"

"Hey, Suze, just because your boyfriend's over doesn't mean I have to come down to breakfast in a three-piece suit."

"No, but you damn well have to come down in more than just a pair of red, spangly bikini briefs!"

"We-"

"And don't you dare tell me this is what you normally wear to breakfast, because we both know it's not. You're trying to freak him out, aren't you? Did JJ put you up to this? You immature, addlepated imbeciles! Don't grin at me, you worm! God, you two really are Dumb and Dumber, aren't you? Well, do me a favor: Go tell your little friend that stunts like these are not appreciated, and if he involves himself in any more I'll shove that smirk he's undoubtedly sporting up his scrawny little ass!"

"Temper, temper," Chris admonishes. He saunters back through the kitchen and leans conspiratorially towards Barry. "Sorry about that," he says. "The sight of me was just too much for her."

"Well, I can certainly see why."

Chris claps him on the shoulder. "Good man," he proclaims. He turns to me. "See, Suze? Barry sees why!"

Oooooohhhhhhhh!

* * *

I see Suzy storming out of the kitchen after an exultant Chris. I smile. Those two really are awful. I go into the kitchen, to see how Barry is faring, and find him suddenly staring at his cereal bowl as though it's some foreign object.

"Barry, honey?"

He looks up. His eyes are glassy, and his cheeks are flushed. Oh, dear.

Her hand is cool and gentle on my forehead. "Barry, you're going back to bed," she says firmly.

"I'll just take some medicine. I'll be fine…I can usually work it off."

"Well, if that's what you do, it's no wonder you're sick now. Your body's finally getting a rest, and it's taking stock. And you don't have the adrenaline to fight it off. So. Bed for you, Doctor MacKenna."

"Yes, Ma'am."

* * *

It must be wonderful to have a mom to boss you around like that, with that undercurrent of love and concern. My dad would always get concerned for me too, nights, when he was home, but usually in a gruffer sort of way.

Right now all I'm doing is following directions. Not giving them for once, or making them up for myself. Thank God. The sheets are cool, and she draws the blinds and tugs the covers over me, and smiles.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Night, Donna."

"Sleep well, honey."

* * *

Poor kid. He does look "done in," as they say. I was all set to heckle him unmercifully for the duration of the weekend, but now I'll let him be. He stirs, and squints, sees me in the doorway.

"Josh?" He rasps.

"Ouch." I smile. "Something new, huh?"

He winces. "Guess so. Where's Donna?"

"The womenfolk are out embracing consumerism. So I brought your lunch. I know I'm not as nice to look at, but…Come to think of it, don't look at my wife. Or my daughter, for that matter."

"Okay."

"Here, eat."

* * *

Soup, crackers, Ginger ale. It might as well be nectar and ambrosia. "Thanks, Josh. I appreciate it. I'm sorry to take you away from your family."

"It's not that much, just soup and stuff. And don't worry about that. Jeez, kid, you're the one who's sick." He sounds affronted.

He watches as I begin to eat. I puzzle over what just happened. He sounded kind of…mad. That's funny. I always thought it was better not to ask my dad for things. It just gave him more to worry over, and made him sadder, somehow. I didn't want that, so I took care of myself. So this is…novel.

* * *

I know what he's thinking. Donna told me what he said this morning; I could see that she was upset. It upset me too, but I have a different perspective than Donna. I know what a loss like that can do to a family, as well as a thing or two about survivor guilt. They say girls often choose men that remind them of their fathers; I always thought that was total bull, but now it seems that Barry and I are more alike than I realized. Go figure.

* * *

I eat as much as I can and lie down again, exhausted. Josh takes away the tray and looks down at me with a searching, serious gaze. "What?"

"Nothing. Just go to sleep, kiddo. Everything's going to be fine."

He sits, and I close my eyes. A moment later, I feel his hand on my hair, stroking, stroking. I feel safe.

So I fall asleep.


	15. Chris: Family Ties, Pt 1

Disclaimer: CJ and Co. aren't mine, but Chris is. Yay!

Notes: This is the first installment in what will most probably be a three-part Chris-centric detour. I hope you like it; please let me know!. Without witchofnovember, this would not have been written, plain and simple, so thank her. You rock, friend. This is for you.

* * *

It's a rainy California evening. I have the window open, so I can hear the patter of the rain and the rumble of thunder. I love the sound of storms.

Then I hear something I'm not expecting: A rap at the door. I tighten the belt of my cream-colored robe and go to open it. To my surprise, Chris is there, in a sodden gray sweatshirt and khakis.

"Chris?"

He looks up. Rain drips from his hair onto his face. He attempts to smile, but it's a dismal failure. His hands are in his pockets, and he's chewing on his lip.

"What's the matter?"

"Dennis is leaving. He's moving to New York for good."

* * *

I'd be the first to acknowledge that kids and I don't mix. I mean, I love all my nieces and nephews, honorary and otherwise, and I adore spending time with them. But a 24/7 mommy? You've got the wrong CJ Cregg. And I've always stuck by that belief.

Except, now and again, I get…sad.

In Chris I recognized a kindred spirit: someone offbeat and witty, who was searching for something: acceptance.

I remember the day I made him that daiquiri. Once inside, I gripped the edge of the sink for what seemed like hours. That sunny, brilliant kid, always ready with a hug or a wisecrack, carrying around all of that hurt. It just…got to me.

So I did things. Kept an eye on him. Sent him notes, emails, made sure he had a place to stay over breaks. I gave him a Gail Jr. for his birthday one year. When he got mono, Josh and I strong-armed him into staying at my place for a while.

We just, we get one another. And that feels good.

* * *

He's sitting on the couch, uncharacteristically quiet. I go into the guest room, find some sweats and a t-shirt he left the last time he stayed over, hand them to him. "Here." He looks at me rather blankly. "Chris, if this couch gets mildewy I'll kill you. You're soaked. Go change." He smiles wanly and goes into the bathroom. I put the kettle on and grab a towel from the hall closet.

When he comes out, he looks a bit better. I hand him the towel and he rubs abstractedly at his hair. The kettle whines. I make up two mugs of tea and watch as he takes a long sip. "Now," I say, "start over."

* * *

Chris jumped from one relationship to another over the years, a mad spinning top, always backing away before things got too deep. I recognized the pattern quite well, of course, and it caused me a measure of pain, for myself and for him. I held my tongue, though, told myself it wasn't my business.

So I was glad when he met Denny. He seemed stronger, more secure in showing his true feelings and affections, rather than always playing the clown. And watching him make Denn laugh, and tease out Denny's great, slow smile, seeing how happy that made him? It warmed my heart, and still does, every time.

* * *

"He got a job at a top firm. It's what he's always wanted. Plus, he misses New York. He tries not to show it, but I know he does. He misses the rhythm of it. He misses his mom and his sister and her family. I think he even misses the damn hot dogs." He rubs a hand across his eyes. "He asked me if I wanted to go. With him."

"And?"

"What do you mean, 'and'? CJ, I can't just…My life is here. My…family, such as it is. You, JJ, Becca, Sarah. My job."

"They have schools in New York, you know."

"Yeah, but people _know_ me here, CJ. I've gotten to the point when I don't have to deal with speculation when I walk through the door. People are okay with it."

"New York isn't exactly a backwater, Christian."

"CJ." He scowls unhappily.

I regard him calmly, steadily. I'm not giving him the easy out he wants. He looks away. "You have people in New York, too. Suzy. They all visit her pretty regularly, JJ, Becca, Josh and Donna. Friends of yours from school. And Toby's there, too. I go to visit him often. You know that. You wouldn't lose us, Chris. I promise. But you might lose Dennis. Is that what you want?"

"No." He jumps up, paces. "But CJ, I _can't-_"

"You've got to. You've got to try."

"Easy for you to say," he spits out. "You've never done it, put your life and your love on the line for someone."

"You're right," I tell him. "When it comes down to it, I really haven't. Not like that. And most of the time, I'm okay with it. I'm comfortable with solitude. But I do have regrets, Christian. And you're not made for a life like this, being essentially on your own. People bring out the best in you, love does. And to have love, you sometimes need to risk being hurt. Okay? Just think about it."

He looks a bit taken aback by his earlier vehemence, but he answers. "Yeah. Thanks, CJ. And I'm sorry, about what I said."

I wave a hand dismissively. "I've had far worse in my years." I eye him, wait for the mischievous spark in his eyes. It flares just a little, and I beat him to it. "One crack, mister, and you'll find your sorry ass out in the rain. Now, I'm hungry. Cheetos and Snapple?" When you have a desperately ill kid under your roof, you learn his comfort foods. I keep them on hand, along with Fudgesicles and strawberry applesauce, for when he drops by.

When I come back into the room, he's asleep. I sigh and press a hand to the small of my back. I go over and watch him for a minute, pick up his shoes and line them up. I put a blanket over him, and my hand hovers over the messy shock of damp hair falling over his forehead. I brush it back once, lightly, then scold myself. 'Get a grip, Claudia Jean! He doesn't need this right now, and neither do you.'

I march resolutely towards my bedroom. Once inside, I push a hand through my hair. It's hard work, this unconditional love thing.

Thank God I don't have any kids.


	16. Chris: Family Ties, Pt 2

Disclaimer: CJ and Co. aren't mine, but Chrisand Dennis are. Yay!

Notes: This is the second installment in what will most probably be a three-part Chris-centric detour. I hope you like it; please let me know!. Without witchofnovember, this would not have been written, plain and simple, so thank her. You rock, friend. This is for you.

PS: The scene in italics is a flashback.

* * *

He didn't come with me. 

I never imagined myself with someone like Chris, someone so vibrant, funny, fun. It's just, I'm pretty self-contained, and I never thought someone like him would stick around long enough to figure me out. But he surprised me.

In fact, till he said he wouldn't come with me, he'd pretty much never not surprised me.

* * *

"Mr. Hanley? You have a visitor." 

I round the corner, look up. And stop short. Ir's Chris. He's wearing his brown cords, and that shirt he stole from me. It's a light blue one, with white, mint, and light red stripes. He always did look good in that shirt.

"Chris?"

"Hey, Denny."

"What are you doing here?"

"You, um, you forgot your shirt."

I raise an eyebrow. "You flew across the country to bring me my shirt?"

"Not exactly. I took the train. I hate flying."

"Ah. Well that explains it, then." I sigh, rub a hand along the back of my neck. "Come on."

* * *

As we walk down the hall towards his office, I sneak glances at him, trying to see whether anything's different. He's in impressive operative mode, so he's wearing his glasses. He's got on that really hot dark blue pinstripe, too, with the shirt that matches his eyes. 

I love watching him work. He comes alive, in such a different way. He's in political PR, if that makes any sense. Non-profits, local governments, school boards, he knows everyone. I went with him to some glitzy gala in California once. I stood in the corner, sipped champagne, and watched him work. That slow smile that I delighted in came quick and easy as he worked his way through the room. Those strong hands hesitant to touch shook and slapped and embraced continuously. Everyone he met he treated to the genuine, warm regard that had so attracted me. And I learned, that there was much I didn't know about this man, and much I wanted to find out.

So that's why I'm here. Well, that and threats of bodily harm if I didn't do something.

* * *

_JJ comes quietly into the living room and flops beside Becca. She smiles and runs a hand through his hair. "She go down okay, babe?"_

_JJ smiles. "We can only hope. She is a Lyman, you know."_

_Becca rolls her eyes. "As if I could forget." JJ grins and kisses her softly. _

"_You guys are sickening, you know that?" I grouse. _

"_Ah, Mr. Misery, how nice of you to join us."_

"_Shut up, JJ."_

"_Man, ever since Denny left you've been about as fun as a body wax."_

"_What do you know about body waxing?"_

_He casts a glance at Becca. "I hear things," he says smugly. _

"_Well, aren't you just Mr. Co-Dependent."_

"_Hey!" he protests._

_Sarah starts to cry, and Becca gets up. "I'll go." She comes around behind me and drapes her arms around my neck. "I love you Chrissie, you know that, right?"_

"_Sure I do, Janet." I give her a kiss, and she leaves. When I turn towards JJ, he's regarding me seriously. _

"_You know, you have a history of telling me when to get my head out of my ass. The way I see it, it's about time for me to return the favor. So. Get your mopey ass out to New York. If it works out, great. If it doesn't, I'll be here with the beer."

* * *

_

So. Here I am. And here he is. And now what do I do? I don't have much experience with these heart on my sleeve type things.

He turns and faces me, looks at me expectantly. I swallow. "So, it turns out I've been kind of a pain in the ass since you left."

"How unusual for you," he says dryly.

I attempt a smile. "I know, right?" I push my hair back. "It's different, though. I'm all…mopey, as JJ put it. So since the kids are on break, and JJ threatened to kill me unless I got my ass out here, I decided to come."

"So, why, exactly?"

"Because…because I miss you, dammit. And frankly, that scares the shit out of me, but there's nothing I can do about it, so I thought…" I break off and stare at him.

"What?" he asks quizzically.

"I knew there was something different!" I exclaim. "The sideburns! You got rid of the sideburns!" Damn. He had really hot sideburns. Not everyone can carry them off successfully, but his were perfect, not too long or too short. Damn.

"Oh. Yeah, I did." He runs a hand across his face self-consciously.

"See? This is what happens when I'm not around. You leave for one month and you're already making these damn fool decisions…" I'm babbling, and he's looking at me oddly. "God, I'm an idiot," I murmur, turning away.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and face him. He's grinning slightly. "Well, that goes without saying," he quips. "But you're my idiot, and I missed you, too. So I guess you better stick around."

"Yeah?" I say hopefully.

"Yeah."

"Well, you know, good." Suddenly he's squeezing the hell out of me, and I feel better than I have in, well, forever.

* * *

Oh, God, what a day. Sometimes I just want to knock heads together, you know? I open the door to my apartment, looking forward to sinking into the easy chair. 

Oh. Well. Forget that, then.

Between this morning and now, my apartment has become a disaster area. Stuff's all over the floor, and music is blaring from the stereo. Jeez. He just got here yesterday, for God's sake.

Tansy comes to greet me, winding around my legs. "Hey, love. What's going on in here, huh?" She just butts her head against my hand, wanting more attention. She's my sweetheart. Rizzo comes over, and I scratch him under the chin. "Where's Gremlin, guys?" Gremlin is, or was, a tough street cat who for some inexplicable reason decided to adopt me. He saunters over. "Hey, pirate. Didn't I ask you to keep our guest in line?" He rumbles a purr. "Okay, okay. You're forgiven. You guys hungry?" Still chattering to the cats, I don't notice the duffle bag in front of me, and I trip. Spectacularly. The cats look at me as though I've gone bonkers. "CHRIS!"

His head pops out of the kitchen. "Hey Denny! I didn't hear you."

"You couldn't hear me if I was standing right next to you, not in this din. Turn down the damn stereo."

He does so, carrying a carton of fried rice out of the kitchen with him. "Bad day at work, huh?"

"You could say that. God damn, Chris, get some of your crap off of the floor, would you? I almost killed myself on this damn bag, here. Jeez."

He's fighting back a grin. "Yes, Dennis."

"It's the least you could do, if you're going to be loafing around for the week, man."

"Yes, Dennis."

"Stop that," I say irritably.

"Yes, Dennis."

I rake my hands through my hair. "Dammit, Chris, I'm not in the mood."

He smirks. "Yes, Dennis."

"Arrrghhh!" Poor Tansy runs for cover. "Now look what you've got me doing. Scaring innocents." I look at him. He's laughing fit to bust a gut.

He wipes his eyes. "Feel better?"

"Oddly, yeah." I smile. "Now give me the damn fried rice."

* * *

We're lying at either end of the couch, trying to decide what movie to watch. "_Four Weddings and a Funeral_! That yummy Scottish guy's in that one." 

"Hmmmm…"

"Or _Braveheart_ might be fun. You know, we could pretend to be all macho while secretly hoping that somehow the wind will suddenly blow up Mel's kilt."

I can't help it. I snort, and laugh till the tears run down my face. When I look up, Chris is regarding me innocently. "Isn't that why everyone watches _Braveheart_?"

"You're impossible."

He grins. "I know."

He gets up to put the movie in, then sits back down on the couch. He squirms. And squirms. And squirms again.

"Chris, quit it."

"What?" he whines exaggeratedly.

"Just, you know. Stop."

"_What_?"

"Oh, God."

"But, Denny, I can't get _comfy!"_

"They actually pay you to counsel children?"

"Amazing, isn't it?"

I throw a pillow at him. "I'll say." He glares at me, and I have to look away to hide my grin. Hell, this is better than an easy chair any day.

* * *

We've been taking it slow again. Sort of, anyway. We see each other weekends whenever we can. One time we went on a picnic, went biking, played Frisbee and catch. Another time, we drove Go-Karts. We visited his mother in Brooklyn; she made me homemade lasagna, and we went to museums and wandered around the city. 

This weekend, Dennis is coming out here, though, and we're going hiking. He's gonna love it.

* * *

Why the hell did I agree to this? When he said hiking, I thought he meant, you know, trees and birds and stuff, maybe a lake. Not scrabbling up rocks. I don't like it to get around, but I'm not much of a heights person. So I'm kinda on edge. 

Chris, though, is in his element, exclaiming over every little thing. It's cute to watch. Except, he keeps showing off, climbing slopes much too precipitous for my liking.

Like now. He's ahead of me a ways, studying a boulder at the crest of a steep hill. Bad. Very bad. "Chris, come on, let's go another way. It's too dangerous. Danmit, Chris, don't-" He grins, and starts to clamber up. "You idiot!" I run closer, and look up just in time to see him tumble off the rock and down the hill.

My heart feels as though it's jumped into my throat. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

* * *

My eyes drift open, and I shift, or try to. My left leg doesn't seem to want to cooperate. Oh well. Suddenly Denny looms over me. "Denn? What's a'matter?" 

"Nothing, honey. Just glad you're awake, is all. Go back to sleep."

"Okay."

* * *

Well, thank goodness. He got a spectacular bump on his head; they couldn't wake him up for a while, and then when they did, he was really disoriented. 

So yeah, in addition to bumps and general abrasions, he broke his leg, and two of his vertebrae. When I found him, for a minute I thought he might be dead. But then, you know, rational thought took over, and I checked for a pulse. After ascertaining that he had one, I took out my phone. By a minor miracle, it had reception.

So now we're here. I should probably be calling people, but right now I'd rather stay with him.

Damn. All I can think about is what might have happened. How could he have been so stupid? By the time he starts tossing and turning, which means the medication's wearing off, I'm about as worked up as I've ever been.

"Hey."

"Hey there. How you feeling?"

"Hurts."

"Well, I should think." I debate the merits of letting loose, and finally decide to heck with it. I don't care how sore he is. "Dammit, Chris, I told you not to do that! And what did you do? You went ahead and did it anyway, and now look!"

"Sorry, Denny."

"Sorry. That's great. Just great. I…Jesus, Chris, I thought you were dead."

"Denny, it's okay."

"No, it's not okay, dammit! Do you know how easily you might have broken your neck? I don't even want to think of the crap you'd get up to in a wheelchair, man."

"You'd stay with me?"

"Well, yeah. I'd be pissed as hell at you for being stupid, but it's not like that's unusual, right? What, you think I let all of the good-looking slobs I come across stay in my apartment?"

"I guess not."

"Damn right." I sigh. "You scared me, Chris," I say quietly. "Try not to do that again, okay?"

"I guess I'm just not used to…having somebody to scare."

"Well, you do now. You scared me so bad you're gonna have to move in with me."

"What?"

"Yup. How else am I going to make sure you don't climb any more rocks? And if you do, I swear to God I'll chain you to the bed."

He attempts to wiggle his eyebrows, but his eyes are getting heavy with sleep again. "That could be fun," he murmurs.

"Oh yeah? Try it and find out."

" 'Kay." His eyes drift shut.


	17. Chris: Family Ties, Pt 3

Disclaimer: None of the originals are mine

A/N: Well, here is the final Chris–centric installment. Sorry it took a bit; lack of motivation. To **witchofnovember**, this one's for you, buddy. I hope it satisfies your need for a fix. Many thanks for everything. To everyone else, thanks for sticking with me, and reading and reviewing. Please, please review and let me know what you think! I hope this doesn't bother anyone; I know it might be a bit distressing to some. Anyway, we're coming down the home stretch, here, maybe two or three more chapters. To indulge in an after-midnight cliché, all good things must end…I don't want to wander _too_ far away from the originals. You've all been incredible, so thanks. Oh dear, slight maudlin-ness. Whatever. 's all good.

Oh, the italics indicate either flashbacks or flashforwards, as the case may be.

* * *

"_Get the fuck away from him."_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_I said, get the fuck away from him." CJ's voice is calm and controlled, but I can hear the icy fury in it._

"_Hey, lady, just who the hell…"_

_As for me, I can't seem to move. I just watch as CJ confronts the man who was responsible for bringing me into the world, and now seems to simply want me out of it.

* * *

_

So I'm finally doing it. Taking the plunge. Dennis and I are having a commitment ceremony in DC this weekend. I thought it'd be fine to have it here, but Denny's never seen the Cherry blossoms, and then Josh and Donna got all excited…

I'm packing. I'm trying to decide which suit I want to wear to the ceremony. I lay the choices out on the bed and ponder. I'm so absorbed I don't hear the soft thump of Tansy landing on the bed, right in the middle of my dark gray suit. "Tansy!" She purrs and butts her head against my hand. "No, no, no, kitty! Dennis! Would you call off this damn cat, please? She's getting hair all over my suit."

Dennis comes into the room and plucks an unresisting Tansy off the bed, shooting me a dirty look. "Come on, pussums," he coos, "let's get you away from the mean man." I scowl, and he smiles meanly. "Oh, you can't wear the silver tie."

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm wearing a silver tie."

"Who gave you the silver tie monopoly?"

"I packed first."

Dammit.

* * *

Chris has this way about him. He draws people in. Even when he's being maddening, he does so in a self-deprecating manner that amused me, and intrigued me, from the moment I first met him. I've found that self-deprecation is a central tenet in his approach to life. 

I've found that he's deeply caring, especially to those he considers his family. He sends Donna flowers and New York delicacies for her birthday and Mother's Day, and faithfully cuts out political cartoons each week for Josh. He'll babysit for JJ and Becca at a moment's notice, never mind the logistics. He spent hours hunting for my mother's favorite record, and when he's in the city he unfailingly takes Suzy and Barry out to dinner, or he brings it to them. He'll paint for CJ and find cigars for Toby and bake for Sam and Ainsley.

And what makes it so remarkable is that in a way, this is a family he created for himself. On both sides, there are no boundaries of affection, no events that are closed to him, no expectations from which he is excluded. And it works. It takes a special person to do that.

But I've found that perhaps he's done too well in this. By creating a new family, he believes he's effaced the first one he had. But he hasn't, and he'll have to deal with that, and I don't know what that will do to him.

But I've found that I want to be by his side when he finds out.

* * *

"Kithy! Kithy! 

I look up, grinning, and watch a little curly-haired blur speed towards me. "Hey, angel baby!" I twirl her around.

"Hi! Hi hi hi!"

"Hi yourself! Miss me?"

She grins, showing tiny, pearly teeth. "Yeth," she lisps. She snuggles closer, lays her head on my shoulder. I take a minute and just stand there, enjoying the feel of Sarah in my arms.

Catching Dennis's eye, I smile, and he grins back. "I think it's love," he says.

"You betcha."

* * *

Chris and Dennis went somewhat against tradition and took a trip before the ceremony. They went scuba diving in the Cayman Islands. Which explains the deep tans, happy smiles, and generally relaxed air around the two of them. While Chris fawns over my daughter, I greet Dennis. 

"You look great, sweetie. Super."

"Thanks, Becca. I feel great, too." He smiles, and his eyes crinkle up at the corners. With the tan, they're startlingly blue. You know, if he wasn't gay, and I weren't deliriously happily married…anyway. He reminds me a bit of the guy in Boondock Saints, though. Definitely drool-worthy. I'll ask CJ and see what she thinks.

* * *

"Huh. He always reminds me more of Luke Perry, actually." 

"Really? I guess I can see that, but…"

"Yeah, there is a bit of that Sean Patrick whatshisname, there. Ah, youth. And, you know, sexual preference."

Behind us, Donna snorts. "You do know this conversation is wrong on so many levels, right?"

"Oh, stop it, Donna." CJ grins. "It's no crime. But I must say, it's gratifying to know that Joshua still fulfills all your needs, fantasy-wise and, dare I say…otherwise?"

Donna throws a towel at her. "CJ…"

"Am I interrupting something?" We turn. It's Denny, quirking an eyebrow. I giggle, then slap my hand over my mouth.

"By all means, please do," Donna says dryly. CJ just stares at him thoughtfully until Donna pokes her.

CJ shakes her head, smiles ruefully. "Sit, Denn. You want some coffee?"

"Yes, thanks. You three are up early."

"Tradition. The rest of the guys and Suzy won't surface for a while yet. Cookie Crisp?"

He smiles. "You read my mind."

We eat companionably for a few minutes, and then Chris shuffles in, scratching at his head as though he's not quite sure whether he's awake yet, or where he is. In contrast to Denny, casual in jeans and a button down shirt, he's wearing only his boxers. "Morn-" He yawns.

"Your charm never ceases to astound me." Denny smirks.

"Shut up."

"Whatever you say, snookums."

He glowers, and accepts a cup of coffee gratefully. He looks over at Denny, and all of a sudden snatches the comics away from him, nearly upsetting Denny's coffee. "Chris, grow up."

"Speak not, He-who-eats cookies for breakfast." Denny responds by smacking Chris resoundingly on the head, and then calmly retrieving the comics.

Chris is still rubbing his head, but he's grinning.

* * *

I didn't want to invite him. They all told me I should. Donna, Dennis, Sam. Not JJ. JJ knows more than anyone. Dennis knows too, but he still thought I should try. 

They just didn't know. But to appease them, I did it. He wouldn't come anyway. To a commitment ceremony involving a son he found "worthless" and "queer?" Not a chance.

I never should have sent that damn invitation. It bought me a ticket straight into hell.

* * *

"_So, there you are, kid."_

_I look up, and my smile fades in an instant. I try to form some response, but everything just sticks._

_He grins wolfishly. His stance, and the gleam in his eyes, indicates drinking. I've seen it often enough. He never actually really hit me, but his words always struck harder than fists would have. "Great party. Seems a waste of money, though, if you ask me."_

_I feel Dennis's hand on my arm. I think it's the only thing that keeps me standing. Every other instinct is screaming for me to run and hide. As it was, I stay, immobile, aware only of the warm pressure of the hand on my arm and a pair of malicious eyes._

_Then something happens that I never would have expected. CJ speaks. "Why?"_

_He looks stunned, momentarily. But only momentarily. "Because he's queer, for God's sake."_

"_Nothing wrong with that in my book."_

"_Well, then you need to get a new book, lady."_

"_No. I think you do. In fact, I think you should go find it right now. Leave. Right now."_

"_I don't think so. Not until I've had my say." He sneers at me. "That's right. I've got something to say to you, you worthless little shit." He looks at me. "You were nothing but that, a worthless, disgraceful little shit, from day one. I didn't want you. But she wouldn't… I should have gotten rid of you the moment she left, you little bas…"

* * *

_

_I try to talk myself out of it, out of the panic. I knew it already. I've known it for years. It's nothing new. But still, the bile rises. I flush hot and cold. My ears buzz._

"_Get the fuck away from him."_

_What? _

"_Excuse me?"_

"_I said, get the fuck away from him." CJ speaks with a barely controlled fury, and her eyes burn with anger._

"_Hey, just who the hell…"_

_As for me, I can't seem to move. I just watch as CJ confronts the man who was responsible for bringing me into the world, and now seems to simply want me out of it.

* * *

_

_Josh comes up to stand next to me, puts a restraining hand on my arm. I could kill him. After all the times I pleaded with him to keep his mouth shut, cleaned up his messes, he's telling **me** to calm down? I'm damned if I will. Not this time.

* * *

_

"_Who the hell am I, you say? I'm the woman who could make one phone call and have you eliminated so fast your little bigot head would spin, that's who I am. Who the hell are you? Who the hell are you to storm in after fifteen years and disrupt this boy's life again? JUST WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?"_

"_I'm his father." He spits the word out, with derision. But it's there. Out there. And it's true. And I can't do one thing about it._

"_No. **No. **You are not. You are a fucking sperm donor. I've known this boy for years. Not one phone call, one letter, nothing. I've seen him laugh it off. I've seen this good, happy, lively kid go silent on his birthday, on holidays, so shot through with pain he doesn't even know it. So **don't** fucking tell me you're his father. Don't you FUCKING dare!"_

_He steps toward her, threateningly, and next to her Josh snarls, literally snarls, and grabs him by his lapels, looking like it's taking all of his self-control not to pound him within an inch of his sorry little life._

_I snap out of my trance. Josh is hyperventilating, and his face is purple. Around us, everyone is staring, transfixed. I walk the few steps, tug on Josh' sleeve. "Josh, for God's sake, you're going to give yourself a heart attack. It's not worth it."_

_Suddenly CJ's beside me, her eyes oring into me, hard and bright. "Don't you say that, ever! Don't **do **that, you hear me! You're a hundred times the man he is. Don't let him win! Don't you let him win, dammit!"_

"_So, you finally agree with your old man on something, huh, boy?" he sneers. "I'd say there's hope for you, but…"_

_CJ whirls on him. "Shut up! Just shut up, you worthless bastard! If you ever, ever, come near this boy again I'll…"_

_I place a hand on her arm. "CJ." She looks at me, questioning. "Thank you, CJ." I walk up to my father, take a long, hard look. "You may be my father, but you're not my family. You never were. And if you come here again, I swear to God, you **will** be sorry you fathered me."_

_All I can hear is the squeak of his shoes.

* * *

_

Sunday morning. As with last night, I didn't sleep much at all. I enter the kitchen only to find the coffee already made, and Dennis sitting at the table, staring out the window, watching Chris.

"Denny? You want more coffee?"

He turns, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and hands me his cup. It's full, and stone cold. I rub his arm, and we sit in silence for a while. When he speaks, his voice is soft. "I had no idea. Honest to God, CJ, I had no idea…that it was like…_that_. I thought, you know, _tension_, and displeasure, but not like that. I mean, this is Chris. How…how does anyone become Chris growing up with that, CJ? I mean, he's so…_Chris_. I can't get my mind around it. God, I can't believe I asked him to invite that monster. Jesus. If only I hadn't-"

"Denny, honey, please don't tell me you're blaming yourself."

"No, no. I just, I wish I had known."

"Besides, if anyone should be blaming themselves, it's me. I can't believe I went and did that, made it worse."

"CJ-"

"As far as I'm concerned, Claudia Jean, I've never been prouder of you in my life."

It's Josh. He comes over, puts a hand on my shoulder, smiles at Denny. Together, we watch Chris.

* * *

Thud thud. Thwack. Boing. Thud thud thud thud… 

He's been doing that all weekend. He doesn't even like basketball. Ever since we came back to our place, though, that's what he's been doing, playing the hell out of that ball. He'll barely speak to any of us, not Dennis, not CJ, not JJ. Not me. And as for eye contact, forget it.

Thwack. Boing. Thud. Thud. Swish.

Ah. Maybe that was a sign. Oh, hell, screw it. Whatever it was, I've got to do _something. _I glance at CJ and Dennis, then head out to the driveway.

"Hey, kiddo."

He looks up briefly, gives me a cool-eyed, neutral stare, shoots. He misses.

* * *

After we got that son of a bitch out of there on Friday, Chris just shut down, basically. He went and sat in a corner, put his head in his hands. Dennis went over after a few minutes, put an arm around him, hugged him, talked a bit. I could see his lips moving. Chris leaned into him a bit, tucked his head against Denny's chest, but other than that he just sat there. They were supposed to go back to New York, but they ended up just coming back to our place. The one-syllable assent was one of the few words to come out of Chris's mouth that night. When I woke up the next morning, he was already out there, playing ball. Just playing ball.

* * *

"Looks like you could use a new ball, kid." 

He dribbles. Shoots. Misses.

"Want me to go see whether I can rustle one up?"

Thwack. Thwack. Swish.

"Guess that's a no, huh? All right, I got it. But I wish you'd say something, Chris. Anything. Please, kiddo. Everyone's worried."

Suppressing a sigh, I turn to go back in the house. Then I hear something.

"I'm not your kid, Josh."

"What?"

"I said, I'm not your kid." The words are harsh and biting; they cut into the space between us like a lash.

"Who are you trying to convince, Christian? You or me?"

His eyes burn into mine, and he slams the ball into the ground. "Dammit, Josh! What the hell were you thinking? You were practically plum-colored! You could have killed yourself. And if you hadn't, he might just have. He was trashed enough to…Jesus."

My ears prick up. "Did he get trashed like that when you were a kid?"

"Josh…"

"Answer me."

"Yeah, every once in a while."

"Did he hurt you?"

"I don't…"

"Chris."

"He just shoved me around a few times is all, when I couldn't get away quick enough. It was never really premeditated, never like I knew I was gonna get it, or anything…Anyway, don't bother about it. It's just my shit, is all…"

"Do you really think you matter so little to all of us that we're going to be satisfied with that? We care about you."

"You need to stop trying to be my family, Josh."

"What?"

"I've pretended it for too long, and look what happened."

"Chris, there was nothing…"

"I could have done something, been somewhere else, been someone else, spared you all that. God, Sarah was in the room."

"So, what now, you're going to deny everything you've become, and that'll just fix everything? Chris, who you are today has nothing to do with that bastard, or your mother, or Donna and I, or anyone. It has to do with _you_. You did it. All yourself. But, I have to say, it has been a privilege, and a pleasure, to have been along for the ride. But you're not done yet. You just, you know, have a flat tire, or something."

"A flat tire." He's looking at me skeptically.

"Yep. But never fear, you've come to the right place. I just happen to have a spare," I joke lamely.

"Yeah?"

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Yeah."

"And you don't mind me, ah, stealing it?"

"Nah. We always wanted a few more petty thieves around here."

"Really?"

"Well, I was going to kick you out the first few hundred times, but then, well, ya kinda grew on me."

"Really?"

"Jeez, bonehead, how many times do I have to tell you? Yes, okay?" I pull him towards my side and give him a one-armed hug, ruffle his hair a bit. "Christ, kid, go take a shower, would ya? Or, ya know, I might just kick you out after all."

"Noted." He smiles shyly. "Thank you, Josh."

"You're welcome." He turns. "Skunk-Man."

* * *

I watch Chris turn away from Josh and trudge toward the house, ball under his arm. He comes inside, and is soon face to face with Dennis. "You okay?" Dennis asks. He puts his hands on Chris's shoulders, runs then up and down his arms. "You had me worried there for a while," he says, slightly shakily. Chris nods. "You sure?" Chris smiles lopsidedly, shrugs, presses a hand to his back. "Your back bothering you? Hot shower would probably help a little, and I can rub it for you, later, if you want." Chris nods again, turns to go. "Hey." Dennis opens his arms, and Chris steps into them. Dennis hugs tight, and in a few moments the tears start pouring down Chris's face. Then he sobs. Through it all, Dennis just holds on, lips pressed against Chris's hair. Quietly, I leave the room.

* * *

Later on, I knock on the door to his bedroom. He's in a chair, facing the window, listening to a piece of classical music. I wonder whether he's channeling Josh. "Chris?" 

"Hey, CJ."

"You want something to eat?"

"No thanks."

"What's this called again?"

"The Swan. It's called the Swan." When he continues, his voice is so soft I have to step closer. "My mother used to listen to this."

"It's beautiful."

"It's sad. Sad and beautiful. I remember, she used to close her eyes, soak up every note. When…when he came in the room, all of a sudden all I could think of was her. It all came back. Walks, long walks, and the scorching bars of the jungle gym. Swings. Soft lullabies and a hand on my hair. Ice cream cones dripping sweetness. The sad, wistful look in her eyes. The hollow feeling in my heart when she left."

"Have you heard from her?"

He shakes his head, and a tear drips down his cheek. "Never. She loved me, CJ. I know she did. She used to call me 'mein kleiner,' my little one. She was German, you know." He stops, and his voice takes on a raggedy edge. "I know I should hate her, CJ. I should. But I can't. She was so sad. But God, I just…I wish she had been here."

His face contorts, I sit down next to him, rub his shoulder. A single tear trickles down his cheek. It's more than I can bear. I put my arms around him. "Oh, baby. Oh, sweetie. It's okay. Cry it out. It's all right. You can cry here. You're safe here. You're with family."


	18. Author Needs Input: Please Read

Hey guys,

My apologies to those of you who thought this would be a new chapter. I just wanted to see how many people would be interested in my continuing this story, and if so, what pairings and/or events you might like to see. The muse is temperamental, so I can't promise to include everything you might suggest, but I'll give it a good try if enough of you are up for it. I'll probably leave this up for a week or two, to give people time to respond, and then take it down, just so you know.

I hope you are all well, and I'd appreciate your input.

Thanks,

Slim


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